Chapter Three - Attack
The drive upstate had been the most miserable ride Sam could ever remember, and he had a considerable number to choose from. Dean drove the Impala with Dad riding shotgun, and he was left to fold his long frame into the cramped back seat. In the past, Dean would have moved the front seat up a bit to give him more room, but he swore the seat had mysteriously moved back a good four inches. He wondered if his vindictive brother was having any trouble reaching the gas pedal.
The cramped accommodations caused the least of his discomfort though as the quiet permeating the stagnant air hung over them like the smog over LA, and all he had to occupy his time were his thoughts and regrets. Damn, for once he would have preferred Dean's heavy metal ruckus to the silence that accompanied them on this journey.
He wondered why Dean hadn't started the music the minute he turned over the engine as he normally did. John didn't mind as long as his son kept the volume down to a reasonable level, after all, the sounds of Dean's life were more the music of his dad's generation anyway. Many of the bands Dean loved were once among his dad's favorites, before John gave up his love of music along with his tapes and all other interests he held in his previous life. The life he led before hunting consumed him.
Sam got the feeling Dad only bristled at the music when a song triggered memories of happier times, memories too painful to revisit knowing they could never be again. Still, here they were riding down the road in silence because on this particular trip Dean had inexplicably not turned on his music.
Sam pondered whether it was a conscious decision or had he simply forgot? Or was his head still too sore from his late night drinking binge? Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to be the one to broach the subject and risk another tirade from his irritated brother. You're not going to get to me you jerk. I've done everything I can. What more do you want from me? A pint of my blood?
After three and a half hours of this torment, they pulled into town to check out a couple of the local watering holes to get a feel for what the townsfolk knew about the strange maulings and deaths in the woods outside of town. The brothers took the first bar and John proceeded down the street to the next one.
Dean took the lead as they entered; effortlessly fitting in with the bikers, long haul truckers and local riff raff. He strode up to the bar and took a handful of peanuts.
"Can I help you boys?" A comely barmaid asked, flirting with the handsome young man who caught her eye the minute he entered.
"Yeah, a beer and a sasparilla for my brother." Dean replied with a dazzling smile.
"I'm Stella, you new in town?" She asked as she popped the tops of their bottles and set them on the bar.
"Just passing through. I'm Malcolm Young; this is my kid brother Angus. We heard you've been having a little trouble around here. What's the story?" Dean smirked.
Stella proceeded to fill them in on all the gory details including specifics on the bouncer from the bar who was the third victim. After another ten minutes of flirtation and innuendo the brothers got up to leave and she slipped Dean a coaster with her name and number on it.
"Give me a call before you leave town. I'm off most nights by two. I can show you the night life around here."
"I'll do that." Dean replied with a wicked grin.
As they left the bar, Sam took umbrage with his brother's behavior.
"Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Use those phony names. You don't think other people read album covers?"
"Gotta find the chuckles where you can, Sam. And at the moment, they're coming few and far between."
"And ordering me a sasparilla? I've got I.D.! You made it yourself!"
"Sam, I'm shocked. You don't want this life, remember? You're underage; you better turn in those I.D.s before you head out for your normal life. I mean, how you gonna explain 'em?" Dean was out the door before Sam could respond and once they saw Dad in the parking lot any further conversation seemed pointless.
John had gotten the general location of the most recent mauling and had worked up a plan of attack. They drove back to the motel they had passed on the outskirts of town and checked in.
After dumping their bags and unneeded supplies in their room they headed out to confront these werewolves. They split into two groups and since John never allowed his sons to hunt on their own they were automatically paired up, which normally would have been their preferred arrangement, but under present circumstances it would only serve to make a long and tedious night.
After two hours of mind-numbing silence and tension, Sam couldn't stand it any longer.
"Dean are we going to talk about this?" He begged his brother.
"What? What exactly do you want to talk about Sammy?" Dean casually asked, as if they really needed to talk about the weather or some other ridiculously unimportant subject.
"You know what we need to talk about. Stanford, my leaving, your pissed off attitude. Take your pick Dean." Sam replied exasperated.
"What's to talk about Sammy? You didn't need my input before, what exactly do you want me to say now? You want me to say I'm OK with this? Well I'm not. You want me to say good for you, you got what you always wanted: a normal life? OK, good for you. Enjoy your new life. All right, you satisfied now?" Dean was still so hurt by all this and all he wanted to do was lash out at the one person who had destroyed his world, to make his brother pay for all the pain he had caused.
"Dean, I told you, I'm sorry. You know I would never purposely hurt you."
"Yeah, well you didn't. Don't even consider me, but what about Dad? Did you even consider what this will do to him?"
"Yeah, Dad's gonna lose a soldier in his war. He's gonna lose the manual labor to dig the grave. He's gonna lose his second backup on shotgun. Yeah, I see what you mean, Dad's gonna be devastated." Sam let loose with all his pent-up frustration and anger.
Dean paused to calm his urge to physically pound some sense into his brother's thick skull before turning back to gaze at the jerk he didn't even recognize at this moment in time. His expression conveying the contempt he felt for his brother and his selfish actions.
"How can you say that? How can you even spew those words? Don't you know how much that man cares about you?"
Don't you know how he drills me to protect you? Protect his baby son? Damn, I've always been there to cover his back and all he thinks about is protecting you, Sammy. And this is how you repay him? This is how you repay me?
All Sam saw was the intense pain his brother was mired in. The pain he himself had placed within his brother's eyes, and he felt a comparable pain just in knowing he was the cause of Dean's anguish. The calm of the evening contrasted sharply with the maelstrom the two brothers were sucked into, neither knowing how to release the pain that was consuming them. The silence once more seizing them as the gulf between them widened.
Dean turned once more to walk away from his brother, unable to breathe the same air as this selfish traitor, unable to face the truth of this situation. He was losing his brother, losing the boy he had devoted his life to, losing his purpose for living. What the hell am I going to believe in now?
Then in an instant their whole world tilted, never again to revolve on the same axis. All they heard was the rustling of the leaves on the trees behind them, and a twig snapped, and in a life-altering second it was racing towards them, hell-bent on feasting on the two preoccupied hunters.
Dean reacted instantly, turning and firing one deadly silver bullet through the creature's heart. Sam staggered back and fell, his brother's quick actions pushing him aside, safely out of the creature's path of destruction.
Dean's protective instincts kicked in and he turned to check on his brother, but immediately he felt another presence behind him and turned back again too late. The werewolf's mate was already upon him ripping his abdomen with its extended claw and tossing his limp body against the ground twenty feet away.
A plaintive howl pierced the stillness of the night as the wolf lamented the loss of its mate. These creatures were not supposed to have feelings and loyalties, yet somehow it knew to enact its revenge on the hunter who had fired the fatal shot.
It raced past Sam and pounced on Dean's prone body sinking its snarling teeth into his shoulder, ripping away at his tender flesh. Dean let loose a blood curdling scream and struggled to tear the beast off his battered body. They tussled and rolled on the ground as he used all his might to try to keep the beast from inflicting further damage. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only possible explanation for him being able to lift the beast off its feed and keep its offending teeth from further shredding his flesh.
As he struggled for his life, he felt his strength waning and knew he was losing this battle. As weariness and blood loss took its toll, he knew he would soon be at the end. His will urged his failing body onward, while his mind knew he had given his all. His consciousness faded as he exerted his last ounce of strength, and then just as his body ceased resisting a shot rang out, whizzing past the beast and scaring it off, back into the woods whence it came. The second shot connected with the creature's back as it disappeared into the forest.
Sam came running over to his injured brother, cursing that in his haste to save him he had missed and let the beast escape with just a shoulder wound. He knelt over Dean's crumpled body and tears fell uncensored from his distraught eyes. Oh God, this is bad.
"Dean, Dean. Look at me." Sam pleaded with his brother.
"Whoa Sammy, tone it down wouldya?" Dean replied as he slowly opened his eyes.
Sam's trembling hands pulled back the tattered remnants of his brother's jacket to view the damage, but all he saw was blood, blood everywhere, covering his brother's chest and stomach. Seeking out the source of the blood it looked like one swipe of the claw across his abdomen and the offensive bite on the shoulder, a werewolf bite: a death sentence or a license to kill, depending on who knew and what they chose to do about it. Sam shuddered at the choice that loomed before them. Why weren't we paying attention? Why were we arguing? Why did this have to happen? Oh God, why?
Dean lay there barely feeling the pain of his wounds, hardly feeling anything except the distress of looking into the face of his younger brother stricken with grief. The shock of the last few moments not registering, the truth not yet sinking in. One look in Sammy's eyes and it all came flooding over him and he saw his future clearly for the first time in his life. I'm going to die.
John came running as soon as he heard the commotion. The wail of the werewolf led him to a gruesome discovery, his older son laid out with an injury that would not heal. He knelt by his son and checked the damage.
"Dean hold on. This isn't too bad; you're going to be fine." John reassured his son.
Dean gazed into his dad's eyes, studying them, not quite knowing what exactly he was seeing there. His dad looked scared, but determined. He didn't look as shattered as Sammy did and for that he was grateful. Dad needed to be strong now. If any of them were going to make it through this, Dad had to be the one to hold steady. Still, he couldn't understand his dad's response. The words and the logic behind them failing him. What the hell Dad? Can't you see what just happened here?
"Dad, I got bit. This ain't gonna be fine unless you plan on visiting me at the zoo."
"Dean, I said it's all right. I'm going to take care of this, don't worry." John answered back more determined, more forcefully. He wasn't quite sure who he was trying to convince, but he prayed his words would ring true.
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