Rule 12: Never go on a hunt without cleaning and oiling the guns.
"Hey, Sam! Hello! Is anybody in there?" Dean reached out and rapped his knuckles against his brother's head.
"Hey!" Sam flinched away, glaring at him.
"What?" he snapped at his older brother.
"I said it's your turn to clean the guns," Dean repeated for the third time, "I'm going out for a while. Don't wait up for me."
"Fine," Sam muttered, turning his gaze back to his laptop.
"Did you hear me?"
"Jesus! Dean! Yes, I heard you!" Sam snapped.
"What are you even doing on that thing?" Dean asked and leaned over, "Solitaire? You're playing Solitaire?"
"Would you leave me alone?" Sam asked, exasperated.
"Are you all right?" the older Winchester asked, now not so angry.
"Yeah, just go away," Sam muttered, "Go out."
Dean opened his mouth to speak again but then closed it and headed toward the motel room door. Sighing, he grabbed the Impala's keys and slipped out.
Dean knew he shouldn't give his brother such a hard time, he'd just seen his girlfriend get roasted on the ceiling of their apartment for Christ's sake, but it pissed him off to have to repeat something a half-dozen times before Sam answered him.
Whatever, Dean thought, maybe some time alone would help his brother cope or something. Since Sam didn't want to talk about his girlfriend, what was Dean supposed to do? Put a gun to his head and force him?
Unlocking the driver's side door of the Impala, Dean climbed into the classic Chevy and turned on the stereo, grimacing as Pearl Jam's 'Last Kiss' came on and decided he didn't want to listen to any music after all.
SPN
Sam sighed heavily as soon as Dean left the room, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.
Closing his laptop, the younger Winchester picked up the remote and turned on the television, and began to flip through the channels without any real purpose.
The minutes dragged on, not that Sam noticed, and then an hour had passed, and then another hour and another.
SPN
Dean opened the door to the motel early in the morning, when the sky was still dark, and frowned at the fact that the lights were still on, the TV still playing.
Glancing to the left, he saw his brother sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed, the television remote held in one limp hand.
Smiling, glad that his brother was getting some sleep; Dean closed the door and locked it before making his way towards Sam's bed. Taking the TV remote from his brother's hand, Dean turned off the television and then the light, pulling his boots and coat off in the dark. Moving silently to his own bed, the hunter laid down, sighing before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.
W
Groggily, Dean woke to find Sam sitting up in his own bed, typing away at his laptop.
"Ugh, what time is it?" the older brother groaned as he raised himself up on his forearms, squinting in the bright sunlight shining through the open curtains framing the smeary window.
"Seven forty-five," Sam replied without looking away from his computer.
Dean groaned again and dropped his head back onto his pillow for a moment. After a minute or two the hunter roused himself, climbing from his bed and grabbing his duffel bag, looking forward to a shower.
SPN
Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell of the Egg McMuffin Dean was scarfing down as they drove towards the Alvin D. Carter wilderness park, where a Black Dog had taken up residence, terrorizing hikers and tearing unlucky campers to shreds. As per usual, the local law enforcement and forest services deemed the attacks as a cougar or coyote or even possibly a small black bear. Dean and Sam though, had examined the victims- what was left of them at least- and knew without a doubt what they were dealing with.
Since they had hunted Black Dogs in the past, the brothers were confident they would be able to kill the monster quickly and then leave, continuing the search for their missing father.
Sam peered out the passenger side window as Dean steered the Impala with one hand, the other wrapped around his artery-clogging breakfast. There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind, as though he had forgotten something but for the life of him, Sam couldn't figure out what it was.
It was probably nothing. He hadn't been feeling himself since Jessica had died and the strange idea that he was missing something was only another symptom.
SPN
Dean crumpled the yellow paper from his McMuffin into a small ball and tossed into the backseat of the Impala to be cleaned up later.
From the corner of his eye he glanced at his brother. Sam wasn't taking care of himself and that worried him.
His sibling wasn't sleeping enough, not performing personal hygiene- Sam hadn't showered in three days- which was sending up large red flags because Dean knew his brother, as well as being a 'neat freak', was also a 'clean freak'. Sam had also refused breakfast this morning, claiming he wasn't hungry as he waited for Dean to place his order in the town's tiny McDonald's restaurant before heading out to the wilderness park.
Dean decided he wasn't going to wait and see if his brother snapped out of his funk any longer. He needed to say something, do something, whether Sam wanted to hear it or not. He couldn't go on like this; if he did he was bound to make himself ill.
But after this job was done, Dean told himself with finality; after this Black Dog is dust, I'll deal with Sammy.
W
As a result of the attacks, the park was off limits to visitors until the creature responsible was found and captured, or killed. So, instead of pulling up to the public parking area, the Winchesters found the employees' parking lot and pulled the Impala into a space.
Exiting the vehicle, Dean noticed each of the cars had a placard in the windshield, identifying them as belonging to forest services workers. The hunter shrugged; if they were ticketed they wouldn't be around long enough to pay the fine. If they were towed, they knew how to hotwire a car to take them to where they needed to be to get the Impala back.
Walking around to the back of the Chevy, Dean opened the trunk and unzipped the weapons duffel, pulling out a couple of rifles, which Sam had loaded with silver bullets the night before. Handing one gun to his brother and keeping the other for himself, Dean closed the trunk and peered at the thick wall of birch, maple, and alder in front of them.
"Let's get this over with," he commented and slung the gun over his shoulder, stepping into the woods with his brother right behind him.
W
"What time is it?" Dean asked his brother as he paused and leaned against a tree trunk.
"Ten twenty-two," Sam replied, glancing at his watch.
Dean sighed, scowling.
"Damn, where is this thing?"
Sam shrugged, looking as lost as Dean felt.
Normally Black Dogs hunted their prey at night, when their dark fur blended in with the shadows and gave them an edge when sneaking up on victims. This one in particular, was hunting hikers and campers in broad daylight- or daylight diffused by branches and leaves- which was troubling behaviour though neither brother said so out loud.
"Maybe we have to walk deeper into the forest," Sam suggested before peering down at the leaf litter at his feet, "And maybe find a trail. So the Black Dog thinks we're real hikers, you know?"
Dean sneered, "It's a Black Dog, Sam. It doesn't think."
Sam just shrugged and continued onward.
The older brother sighed and followed his sibling.
SPN
"Damn it!" Dean swore loudly, scaring a flock of birds out of the trees, "We've been walking all friggin' day and still nothing!"
The hunter was in a foul mood. His feet were sore, his legs were tired and he was hungry. Dean didn't want to admit it but he was afraid that maybe they had been wrong and that this wasn't a Black Dog they were hunting after all. Maybe it really was just a cougar or coyote.
Sam looked at a loss for words.
"Let's start heading back," Dean grumbled, "Get something to eat and then come back when it's dark. Maybe than this thing will show itself."
Sam said nothing but followed his sibling as Dean began stomping through the trees the way they had come.
SPN
Dean had rarely felt so frustrated. A Black Dog hunt was supposed to be easy, a run-of-the-mill kind of deal. But now it seemed as though they were just looking for a needle in a haystack, a needle that may or may not even be there.
Although Sam didn't say it, Dean knew he felt the same. Maybe they had been wrong about this one. It wouldn't be the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last but the bitch of it was the fact that they had spent the entire day traipsing through some random forest when they could have been searching for their Dad.
The sky was growing dark now that the sun was setting, no longer a bright, clear blue but a deep violet colour. Shadows had begun to darken and lengthen, making walking more treacherous with hidden roots and rocks. The elder Winchester was silently kicking himself for not thinking to bring any flashlights. All they had were the lights on their cell phones. Dean didn't think they'd make it to the Impala before night fell.
"Hey, Sammy-" Dean began to tell his brother they should pick up the pace when a shadow dethatched from its surroundings and pounced on his sibling.
Sam, unprepared for the assault, lost his footing and staggered to one side, slamming into the side of a large oak tree as the weight of the Black Dog bore down on him.
"SAMMY!" Dean shouted as his sibling struggled to push the monster off his chest. The Black Dog had a mouthful of his jacket in its jaws and its sharp-clawed toes scratched against his abdomen cruelly.
Sliding his rifle off his shoulder, Dean allowed his training to take over, and, working basically on autopilot, fired a single shot at the Black Dog.
There was no response. The gun would not fire but issued a dull click.
Dean stared at the weapon for a moment, dumbfounded.
"DEAN!" Sam cried out as he lost his footing in the soft loam at the base of the oak tree and fell onto his back, the Black Dog taking advantage of his prone position to release its hold on his jacket to snap at his face.
"DEAN!"
Dean raised the gun again and tried to fire a second shot.
Click.
Now that it was obvious that the rifle wasn't going to work, Dean began to panic.
Sam had his arm raised to protect his face, the Black Dog's jaws clamped tightly to the limb, shredding his jacket and drawing blood.
"D'n," Sam said, quickly losing energy as his arm lowered a half an inch toward his face, brining the Black Dog's slavering jaws closer to that vulnerable flesh.
Think! Dean demanded of himself, frantically.
The coppery tang of blood was in the air and Dean knew he didn't have much time to decide on a plan of action. Sam couldn't hold the Black Dog off for much longer.
The elder Winchester's hands tightened around the gun and suddenly he knew what to do. Moving his grip down to the barrel of the rifle, he raised the butt of the gun up like a baseball bat and took the three or so feet to his brother at a run.
Despite the darkness, he could see his brother's pale face peering out from underneath the large dark mass that was the Black Dog. Winding up, as though about to hit a home run, Dean brought the butt of the rifle down on the back of the Black Dog's head.
The monster released its hold on Sam's arm and screamed a high-pitched shriek that made the blood in both hunters go cold. Not satisfied, Dean cracked it across the head again, and again, and again, not even caring if he hit his brother in the process he was too full of adrenaline and fear and anger to be worried about that triviality.
"Dean!"
"DEAN!"
"DEAN! STOP!"
Sam's breathless cries brought the older hunter back to reality and he dropped the gun.
"Sam? Sammy, shit! Sammy are you okay?" Dean dropped to his knees beside his fallen sibling, shoving the heavy body of the Black Dog off his brother's chest, its head a sticky mess of fur, brains and bone.
"Are you okay?" Dean asked, which was stupid, he'd seem Sam's arm being used as a chew toy, so he added, "Did I hit you?"
Sam shook his head and Dean reached out to help him sit up. It was almost completely dark out now so the older brother grabbed his phone from his pocket and used the Flashlight on it to illuminate his sibling.
Sam's face was pale and had small scratches across his cheeks and chin, pinprick of blood seeping from them; his right arm was covered in the torn remains of his jacket, blood dripping steadily from the wounded appendage. His shirt was in tatters, the Black Dog's claws having dug out deep gouges in his chest and abdomen.
"I'll live," Sam ground out, "Help me up."
Reaching out to take his brother's uninjured arm, Dean pulled his brother to his feet.
Sam swayed for a moment but than gained his balance. His eyes had a bit of a glassy look but Dean wasn't too worried. He was sure they'd be able to make it to the car before his sibling passed out, if that was what he was going to do.
With one hand on his brother's arm, he reached down and picked up his rifle and Sam's.
"Why didn't they work?" the younger man asked, his words slurring slightly.
Maybe Sam had hit his head when he'd slammed into the tree, Dean wondered.
"I don't know," he answered, "You cleaned and oiled them last, you tell me."
Sam blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and than a look of realization momentarily took away the glassiness from his gaze.
"Sam? What is it?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat because maybe his brother was hurt worse than he'd thought.
"What's wrong?" he repeated.
"I…" Sam hesitated and licked his lips, drawing his injured right arm protectively to his chest, "I… didn't, Dean. I forgot to clean the guns last night."
The first thing Dean felt was anger. He had explicitly told Sam to clean and oil the guns and Sam had agreed to do it. But then Dean looked at his brother's face, really looked at it, seeing the pale skin, purple circles beneath watery eyes, the tightness of the muscles that told him his sibling was in pain.
Letting out a long breath, Dean released his anger.
"It's okay, these things happen," he assured his brother, "Let's just worry about getting you patched up."
Sam stared at Dean with a look of disbelief; clearly he had been prepared to have his head bitten off.
"Oh… Okay," the younger brother muttered and allowed Dean to guide him across the hidden obstacles on the forest floor.
Dean said no more about the rifles. He knew he could, he knew he should lecture Sam on how dangerous and irresponsible he had been, just like their father would have done had he been with them, but decided that almost getting mauled to death by a Black Dog was enough.
He was certain Sam would never forget to clean the guns again.
And Dean reminded himself not to be so hard on his brother.
Author's Note:
I do not have the name of the person who gave me this prompt. If it's yours, please let me know so I can give you credit.
Thanks to elliereynolds777, jo1966, jensensgirl3, GuardianOfMusic27855, BranchSuper, and SamDeanLover28, and Melon-Lord-Of-Fire for reviewing.
I apologize for the long wait. Life has just been crazy, with school and then having a case of Writer's Block didn't help with any of my stories. I will try and post the next installment as soon as possible.
Please be kind, review!