Title: The woods are lovely, dark and deep
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Sam Winchester had begun to wonder whether the demon had forgotten his plans for him. Sam Winchester had forgotten that the demon played a long game. Dark!fic. Multi-chapter. Not WIP.
Disclaimer: Everything the light touches belongs to someone else. The darkside too. It's all Kripke and the guys and gals at the CW.
Beta: Beta'd by the fabulous TraSan
Chapter 4
It took Sam a few moments to realise where he was the next morning. His neck felt stiff and sore and he rolled it a little before realising the reason: he'd fallen asleep in the chair where he'd been watching Dean. His eyes flicked up to his brother and were met halfway by hazel-green.
Dean was sitting on the bed, leant against the headboard with only the drawn lines on his face any clue of the pain that caused. The laptop was resting against bent knees and he was tapping away even as he spoke "You know how creepy that is?"
"Wha?" Sam asked, the rest of the word cut out by a yawn that erupted out of his mouth.
"Waking up with you, head bowed, in that chair watching me," Dean punctuated his words with more taps at the keyboard.
"Sorry, I'll be more careful in my stalking from now on." Sam unfolded from the chair, standing and stretching until his body felt like his own again instead of some scrunched-up simulacrum, "What are you doing?"
"Checking up on that last job," Dean answered. "Hey Sam, listen to this," Dean peered at the laptop screen. "'The small town of East Smidgeley was rocked yesterday by the brutal murder of two of its citizens, mother and daughter Elspeth and Karen Harrington. An anonymous phone call alerted police to the situation at the town hall where Elspeth was found dead from a single gunshot through the skull. Several other members of the WI were found unconscious at the scene but later made a full recovery in hospital. The body of Karen Harrington was discovered when a man out walking his dog found a shallow grave by the motel she worked at. Police are currently investigating a lead that notorious spree killer Dean Winchester was in the area and are appealing for further witnesses.'"
Dean was watching him oddly and it took Sam a short while to recall the fact he wasn't supposed to know about Karen. Sam's jaw worked for a while as he tried to come up with the right words to explain to his brother about what he'd done and whys, whats and hows that still cluttered inconsistently in his own mind.
Dean apparently took his difficulty for shock as he nodded his head, "People are sick. Probably someone who got on the wrong side of old Elspeth decided to take it out on the kid. Sam, you alright? You are looking a bit pale."
Sam felt nausea gouging its way up the inside of his throat and he barely made it to the bathroom in time to purge himself of last night's meal. He heard Dean hovering nearby, "Shit, Sammy. I forgot you liked her."
Sam bit back a hysterical laugh which mutated into more heaving, "Dean, we really need to talk," was all he managed to force out between bouts.
"I know, Sam," Dean said, crouching down at his brother's side, and Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat. "You did everything you could to get there earlier. You weren't to know the witches went for the handsome, bad boy type. Stop guilting over it, I've seen the attack of the puppy dogs thing you got going."
Sam marveled at his brother's ability to pick exactly the wrong right thing to say, "That's not it, Dean."
"You are worried over killing that witch? Seeing as she was getting a little too touchy-feely with that knife, I'm not exactly broken-hearted here. Bitch like that barely qualifies as human in the first place. It's the kid I feel sorry for. Poor thing didn't have a clue what her mother was really like, I overheard a phone call. Mommy was all sugar and candies about the WI and being home soon."
Sam wondered whether his brother was deliberately making this difficult, "About the kid…"
Dean gave him a long look, "That's what the kicked puppy look is for? The fact that you couldn't manage to save the daughter? She was probably killed after we left and I dunno about you but I didn't fancy sticking around that town. Especially not when I'm apparently the infamous spree killer. It wasn't even a good picture, didn't include my freckles."
"Yeah, guess it's silly feeling so guilty," Sam said in a voice that felt as dead as he was, "Look, just give me a few minutes, alright? I'll be out."
Sam heard the retreating footsteps of his brother and he leaned his head against the toilet, sucking deep breaths into his chest. He had to tell Dean. Sam had quite a few secrets, gathered from years of hunting and the years away at Stanford but when it was important, like this, he always told Dean. Except Dean had promised him, promised his father that if Sam started turning Sith on them then he'd do what needed to be done and killing an innocent woman was about as dark side as you can get.
What if Dean didn't believe it was an accident, his mind whispered sinuously at him. Can you live with your brother's sidelong glances, always suspicious that you'll turn on him? What harm can it do not to tell? Your brother thinks it's just a vengeful villager and you know you'll never do it again. What's one more secret between brothers?
By the time Sam left the bathroom, just the headache remaining beating against the inside of his skull, he knew this was something he'd never be able to tell his brother. Dean was sat in the same chair Sam had been sitting in earlier except now it was turned around to face the bathroom door. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean just gave a hapless smirk but Sam noticed how his brother wasn't leaning against the back of the chair in his habitual slouch.
"So, I'm thinking we should go see if those potential werewolves are still around for us to take care of," Dean said.
Sam frowned, "I was thinking we should stay here for a few days to recuperate. Do you really want to become a werewolf chew toy?"
Dean snorted, "We don't even know they are werewolves and you know it's not exactly adrenalin pumping all the research we'll have to do beforehand. I can wear a suit and ask, 'So, when did you first suspect your husband biting you in bed was something more?' like the best of them."
"I think they might notice when you wince at every movement."
"I don't wince," Dean protested. "I make a manly face of pain. I can just feed them a cock and bull story about saving children and getting the villain and that kind of heroic Walker, Texas Ranger crap."
"Fine but I'm driving."
"Whatever floats your boat but we're not listening to any of your whiny emo crap this trip. If I have to listen that girl whine about swimming difficulties any longer, I think I'll have all too clear an understanding of why Goths cut themselves."
"It's just a metaphor for…" Sam started to explain and then noticed the all too big grin on his brother's face. "Nevermind," He concluded, "You all ready to head out?"
"Yep," Dean stood stiffly and Sam could see the winces… the manly faces of pain… that he made, "Let's go hunt Werewolves."
They were two hours out of Saragon when Sam felt the vision coming. Dean had taken over the driving despite Sam's protestations, claiming that as long as he leant forward it didn't hurt. Sam had been dropping in and out of uneasy sleep, his first vision haunting him except instead of the girl's face appearing impassive as before; it dripped with blood and her mouth was opened in a scream, a post-mortal plea for mercy.
Sam felt his body twitch and stiffen and then he was lost to reality. He was in a forest, sparsely planted with the few trees it had reaching straight up towards the sky. The air was frigid and the moon was out in full, casting a silvery light through the trees, the only illumination for the scene in front of him.
Three figures hunched in the clearing, circling a fourth. Sam tried to move closer, to get more details but the vision retained control leaving Sam with a distant viewpoint straining to see what was going on. As Sam watched, one of the figures made it through the last's guard and there was a sickening tearing sound as teeth, more lupine than human, closed around its throat and tore. An unearthly howl filled the air as all three figures lifted increasingly wolf-like heads up into the air before bending over the prone body.
Sam wasn't quite sure why the vision chose that moment to send him surging forward, only that it did and he got a last glimpse at the figure before the predators consumed their prey. Short, dark blonde hair, unseeing hazel green eyes and a familiar brown leather coat. "DEAN!" He felt himself screaming and then he was being tugged backwards out of the vision, never noticing one of the werewolf's eyes reflected more sulfur yellow than gold.
When Sam came back to himself, it was to a car stopped by the side of the road and his brother's worried face, body twisted around to watch him in a way that surely couldn't be comfortable on Dean's lacerated back. "Vision?" Dean asked, keeping his tone level and blasé.
"Vision," Sam concurred, rubbing a thumb at his temple where the loitering pain remained, "I think we have confirmation on those things we're after being werewolves."
"You see the victim?" Dean asked, reaching across into the glove compartment to pull out their father's journal, flicking through the pages until he found the old entry on werewolves, "They look like this?" He held it up to Sam.
Sam took the journal and forced his eyes to focus on the picture, "Not really." He said after a moment, "They looked mostly human but hunched over, they started to look more and more wolfy as the vision went on but their eyes were gold, right from the beginning."
"Could be a different breed," Dean ventured. "Makes sense that if you get different breeds of dog then you'd get different breeds of werewolf. Think you could recognise the victim if you saw them again?"
"Pretty sure," Sam said reticently, he knew if he mentioned the victim's identity to Dean then his martyr of a brother would likely offer himself up as bait. Dean didn't need any extra encouragement at the moment to get himself nearly killed.
"That should cut down on the waiting time. All we need to do is wander around until you spot them, stick to them like stink on a warthog and then make sure to load up with silver bullets for when the werewolves try to attack." Dean frowned, "Could you recognise the werewolves?"
"Probably," Sam said, "They seemed to be a bit indistinct."
Dean grabbed the folder of print-outs he'd made in prep for the job, pulling out the previous articles and passing them over, "These are the three previous victims."
"That's them," Sam hissed, recognising the faces even from as unclear and elongated as they had become in the vision.
"Most reports have them still in the hospital. I don't think wandering in there and popping all three in the head would be the best plan. Didn't Dad mention one of his friends had been trying to find a cure for werewolves before the first manifest? Maybe this vision is about saving those three as much as it is whichever poor sucker became the chew toy."
"Jefferson, I think, but that's the same guy who almost got you suffocated when you were fourteen 'cos he came up with some madcap theory about opposite elements and tried lobbing a load of earth against the sylph that snatched you."
"Hey, it was sound theory, just a little shoddy on execution. That's why Dad always told us to phone Jefferson if you needed help and then use a good excuse for why he couldn't come help us out," Dean protested. "You call Jefferson and I'll drive, we can't be far from Saragon."
"Need your phone." Sam held his hand out, he'd deleted all the old hunters from his phone once he'd gone to Stanford, determined to prove, at least to himself, that he was one hundred percent out of that life. Dean slapped the phone into Sam's hand and Sam flicked over to the phone book and started scrolling through the names. "Seriously, bro, why do you have so many women's names in here? You never actually call them."
"Got to keep a record somehow."
Sam just rolled his eyes and kept scrolling until he got to the J's. He highlighted the entry for Jefferson and pressed dial, listening as the phone rang.
"Hello, Jefferson speaking." Jefferson always sounded mildly surprised, as if the world was constantly a mystery to him.
"Hey, It's Sam Winchester."
Sam didn't get a chance to say anything more as he heard an ecstatic, "SAM!" so loud that it made the phone buzz with a metallic grind. Sam yanked the phone quickly back from his ear and shot his brother an amused look.
"Yeah, Sam. Me and Dean are just East of Colorado."
"Dean's there?!" The man hollered again and Sam pulled back the phone once more, "It's been ages since I spoke to Dean. Can I speak to Dean?" Sam recalled the last time he had rung Jefferson while looking for his Dad. It had been an hour long conversation, mostly filled full of Jefferson's ferret on a sugar high recollections of previous hunts with their Dad and no useful information.
"Dean's driving at the moment, Jefferson, he can't come to the phone." Sam held the phone up to his brother's ear in time to hear Jefferson's disappointed 'Awww'. "We were wondering how that werewolf cure is coming."
"It's going great," Jefferson enthused, "I'm almost certain it works."
"That's great," Sam said in relief, "We've got three proto-werewolves here, any chance you could get some here?"
"Erm," Jefferson said, "Well, I haven't actually tested it on humans yet."
Sam wanted to thump his face on the dashboard and let out a groan, earning him a curious look from his brother, "So, how exactly are you almost certain it works?"
"On paper, it's perfect." Jefferson said, seeming not at all put off by the discouraged tone in Sam's voice.
"Well, it's still the best shot we got. Can you get some down here?"
"Sure, I can bring it down."
"No!" Sam quickly said, "Erm, I, there's…" He sent a desperate look to his brother. Dean attempted to mime something to him, unfortunately their childhood hadn't included regular games of charades so Sam didn't have the foggiest what it could be, "We think the werewolf virus might be airborne. It's not safe to get more people here." Dean shot him a WTF look and shook his head.
"Wow, I'll send lots of vials then. If you and Dean are infected and the cure doesn't work, let me know and I'll come down and shoot you."
"That's very kind of you, Jefferson. We'll be sure and let you know. Just send the stuff to the usual place. Hey, I think we're going through a tunnel." Sam started making hissing noises and scratching his fingers on the receiver, "I think we're breaking up, talk to you la…" He hung up.
"Dude, that was lame." Dean said, emphasising his point with a slap of the hand on the steering wheel, "Airborne werewolf virus?"
"What the hell were you trying to mime?"
"Jefferson excuse number fourteen: No, stay there, we think we might have a job in the area soon for you to check out." Dean said with a roll of his eyes.
"How the hell was," Sam flailed his hands in a vague imitation of Dean's charades, "that equal to what you just said?"
"Don't blame your sub-par skills on me." Dean said, "Jefferson bought the virus thing?"
"Yep, even offered to come down here and shoot us if we got infected."
"You know, generally when they talk about true friends helping you move bodies, they don't mean your own." Dean said with a chuckle. "So, what's the plan? Get a motel room and wait for Jefferson's stuff to arrive?"
"We should probably do some work in case it doesn't." Sam replied, "Which is pretty likely. We've still got the white coats, right?"
"Doctor Barrett, Doctor Gilmour," The nurse on duty peered at Sam and Dean's name badges, "What exactly is the CDC's interest in these cases?"
"Well," Dean put on his best serious doctor face, "There are some concerns that what's been happening here is the result of a parasitical infection spread by blood which leads to altered mental status. We could use a blood sample and to talk to the patients, see whether we can confirm our suspicions."
"Doctor Edrin is in charge of these two patients. He's on call. I'll give him a ring and let him know you are here."
"That won't be necessary," Dean said smoothly, "I think we can get most of their details from a chart and I'd hate to disturb his sleep." Dean leaned over the desk a little, turning on his full flirtation mode only with the slightest pained undercurrent, "I bet you probably know more about this than the doctors do, eh?"
Nurses were ever the under-appreciated members of the hospital so Sam wasn't entirely surprised when the nurse smiled beatifically at Dean, "Well, We do get to spend that much more time with the patient. I could tell you all about them if you want." Her eyes flicked to the other doctor, "Maybe your colleague could go interview some of the other nurses."
"Yeah Doctor Gilmour, go find yourself a nurse to talk to and I'll be sure to get the full scoop from this one." Dean winked at his brother.
Sam wasn't too keen on letting Dean out of his sight given the content on his vision but the hospital bore absolutely no resemblance to the wood they'd seen and it was still eight days until the full moon, "Fine. Doctor Barrett. I'll go check on the patients."
It wasn't much of a challenge to find the rooms with the werewolf victims in. It was a small hospital and the staff were the definition of helpful. The first room contained the chronologically first victim and Sam made a show of examining his chart with a thoughtful frown before looking at the victim. It was unusual to see his face in the calm of sleep rather than in a rictus of feral savagery as from Sam's vision.
Sam wasn't quite sure what to do when the man began to stir, opening eyes that were thankfully still a pale blue rather than gold, "Who are you?"
"I'm Doctor Gilmour from the CDC. Doctor Edrin invited us down to take a look at your case. Nothing to worry about," Sam gave his most reassuring smile, "How are you feeling?"
"Sore, looking forward to getting out of here," The man answered. "Doctor Edrin said I should be able to leave within a couple of days."
Sam made a show of consulting the chart, flipping on the pieces of paper and tapping on them with a pensive face, "Yes, it looks like your vitals are strong." Dean always teased him for watching shows like ER but it really did come in handy, "Can you tell me anything about what attacked you?"
"Does this matter to the doctors?" The man looked wary.
"Of course! If there does turn out to be something more to this illness, we will need to track down your attacker, the patient zero as it were."
"You mean I could be sick?" The man looked vulnerable lying there in the thin hospital gown, difficult to reconcile with the snarling inhuman thing from Sam's vision.
"We're waiting for the results of the blood tests. It's probably nothing to worry about, sir, we just have to take precautions. Now, about the thing that attacked you?" Sam pressed.
"Why do you keep calling it a thing?" The man quizzed, "It was just a man. Kinda embarrassing really that he got the drop on me. He was tall, probably had a couple of inches on me, a bit of a beer belly, long grey hair."
"Did you notice what colour his eyes were?" Sam asked, keeping the question as casual as he could.
The man looked a little weirded out, "I try not to stare into psycho's eyes. I think they were brown or something like that."
Sam frowned. There was something about this case which just didn't add up. After the disaster of last time, he'd really thought this might be something nice and simple. "Thanks for your help. We'll be sure to keep you updated."
The next room was more helpful. The victim, a young woman, was the most recent victim which meant that her wounds were still fresh enough to get a proper look. She stirred a little in her sleep when Sam peeled back the bandage over the wound and took a look. It didn't resemble any of the werewolf bites that Sam had seen before. He could see how the doctors could have thought it was a human seeing as it definitely looked human, no trace of the elongated jaw or fang indents he would have expected from a werewolf bite.
"Damn," Sam muttered to himself, covering up the wound again and leaving the room. There was no point in going in to see the third victim, Sam just peeked through the glass to confirm for himself that it was the same man as he had seen in his vision and then headed back to where he left Dean.
Dean was just tucking a piece of paper into his pocket as Sam approached, giving the nurse his best, 'I'll call' smile. He grinned as he saw Sam, tapping his pocket just in case Sam hadn't seen, "Doctor Gilmour, good to see you." He gave the nurse a sad look. "I better get back to work. There are lives to save." Sam sometimes wished that Dean hadn't learnt his doctor routine from daytime soaps. The nurse seemed to be lapping it up though that was probably more down to his brother's looks rather than any particularly impressive acting.
Sam waited until they were clear of the hospital doors and halfway to the Impala before speaking. "This werewolf is like nothing that we've ever seen before," He exclaimed, "The bites on the victim I saw looked entirely human."
"You sure you saw werewolves in that freaky head of yours, Sammy?" Dean asked, "'Cos nothing is matching up. From what the nurse said, the police are investigating some kind of cannibalism cult said to be local to the area, the old power of chewy delicious human flesh shtick."
"I know what I saw."
"Have you ever had a vision which didn't come true?" Dean asked, "I mean, you aren't exactly forthcoming with details unless I quiz you."
Sam shrugged, "We've stopped visions before but I don't think there's been one which had things this badly wrong." There had been the one with the motel girl and the fire but the only way Sam was getting through the day was convincing himself that the motel girl had been an accident waiting to happen. He knew it probably wasn't the healthiest way to deal but it was the only one he had.
"We might be dealing with a whole new breed of werewolf then?" Dean scowled, "I hate it when supernatural things do that."
"You want to call Bobby? See if he's heard of it."
Dean shook his head, "Nah, I think we've been bugging him a bit too often recently. We don't want him thinking that we're incompetent."
"You mean you don't want him thinking you're incompetent?" Sam teased, "Fine. We'll hold off unless we can't find anything. Next stop?"
"As much as I hate to say it, the library." Dean wrinkled his nose, "We need to figure out what about this place makes the weird get weirder."
A/N: The 'girl whining about swimming difficulties' that Dean complained about was Evanescence's 'Going Under.' I love the song myself but I don't think it's Dean's cup of tea.