I'm so sorry for the delay in updating this story. A few others got in the way. And then my muse decided to take an unwelcome break. I hope everyone enjoys.
Don't You Dare Pee in the Impala - Chapter 8
The young hunter felt his stomach do a slow, sickening somersault when it truly sank in that Sam, the dog—his brother—was really gone. His gaze continued to roam the immediate area. Despite the fairly early hour, on the playground in the distance, a few children played and laughed under the watchful attention of their respective parents. The area near the water—near them—was more secluded and was deserted except for Dean, Josie, and the dick—Dirk—who remained flat on the ground.
"Sam! Sammy!" he called, cupping his hands on each side of his mouth, "uhh, here, boy!" Dean called several more times without results. He spun toward Josie.
"Did you see him? Did you see where he—Sammy—went?"
Josie shook her head. "Uh . . . no . . . I—I was watching you and Dirk."
"Was he hurt?"
"What?"
Worry wormed its way into Dean's stomach, and he frowned. "Sammy! Was he hurt? I saw Dirk kick him. Did . . . did he hurt him? Do anything else to him?"
"N-No. I don't think so. Do you want me to help you look for him?"
"Uh uh. I've got it." Dean started to hurry away, stopping only when Josie's tremulous voice sounded behind him.
"Look—Dean—I'm . . . I'm sorry. You know, for Dirk and everything. I didn't know he'd—"
The hunter waved a dismissive hand at her and moved forward again. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. I gotta go." Deciding the best place to start would be the wooded area, Dean headed in that direction.
As he approached the wooded area, the forlorn, cold wind picked up and Dean shivered. His wet clothes clung uncomfortably to his body, further weighing down his limbs already heavy from the recent fight. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, growling out a sinister promise of bad weather to come.
Reaching the tree line, the eldest Winchester brother ducked under some low hanging branches of a tall pine and again cupped his hands around his mouth, calling, "Sam! Here, boy!" Moving deeper into the trees, his eyes scanned the area looking for movement. The sky lit up with flickering blue-white lightning, creating inky, odd-shaped shadows close to the ground. Dean squinted into the gathering gloom but saw nothing. Thunder rumbled again, much closer this time. The imminent storm was about to let loose.
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run run run
don't run
don't run
sniff
sniff
run
hide
go back
scared
mean
not my human
run run run
don't run
find my human
sniff
sniff
hey, what's that over there?
(SN) (SN) (SN)
The rain, when it came was a raging torrent, no tentative warning sprinkles for this storm. Menacing darkness encroached in a blink as the turbulent clouds stalled seemingly right over the town, ready to do their worst.
Dean cringed as lightning flared again and again in the puffy bruised-looking sky. The length of time between the lightning strikes and the accompanying chorus of thunder grew non-existent as the storm settled in for a lengthy visit. Rain lashed relentlessly at the hunter's face as he called for his lost dog—his lost brother—the pleas forfeit in the cannonade of sound generated by the tempest. The deluge quickly turned the ground beneath Dean's feet into a sea of slippery mud—the overhead canopy of brittle leaves doddering past their autumn luster being no match for the fomenting onslaught.
Dean trudged on doing his level best to concentrate on the murky, mottled landscape before him. He wiped the cold, almost viscous, rain from his eyes continuously, but it did little to sharpen his vision.
After a few more ineffectual entreaties, Dean gave up calling for Sam, deciding it was more prudent to wait until the cacophony ended. Until then, he could only hope his eyes would catch a glimpse of something moving in the artificial dusk.
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At the first booming crack of thunder, the big dog dropped to his belly amongst the mixture of dirt, pine needles, and desiccated leaves and let out a soft whimper. As the storm grew in intensity, so did Sammy's fear. He trembled.
scared
run
hide
The rain soaked through his fur, leaving him wet and miserable. But worse was the relentless noise—the loud booms and thumps of thunder and the crackling sizzles as bright white lightning struck in various places, all of which hurt his ears.
scared
lost
lost
lost
scared
Overwhelmed and not knowing what else to do, the dog threw back his head and howled in despair.
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Dean detoured around a rotting log, just barely avoiding it hidden as it was in the veil of rain. For a split second, as the storm paused to take a breath before continuing its roar, the elder Winchester heard an incongruous sound and he ceased all movement. Cocking his head, Dean listened intently. He recognized that noise. It was a howl! And either this park was plagued by the presence of an undocumented werewolf or it was a dog—Sammy!
The maelstrom then exhaled with a bellow, drowning out the telltale wail, but Dean didn't hesitate. He ran in the direction he thought from which the noise had come, ignoring the uneven and treacherously slippery ground beneath his feet. In his haste to find his brother-turned-dog, Dean missed seeing the small, ragged hole until it was too late. Unable to stop his momentum, he pitched forward, landing hard despite the oozing mud. His splayed hands took the brunt of his weight, his wrists aching from the impact. He missed a face full of gooey muck by a scanty margin.
Mad and cursing at himself for his clumsiness, the hunter slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, wiping ineffectually at the gunk covering his torso before abruptly realizing the copious amount of water falling from the sky could take care of rinsing most of it away. He stayed seated for a moment to catch his breath and took a head-to-toe inventory, relieved that he hadn't done something stupid like knock himself out. It was when he tried to stand, however, that white-hot pain zigzagged up his left leg from an injured ankle, almost sending him straight back to his knees. Balancing on his right leg, he carefully rotated his left foot, hissing as the simple action ignited a fire. Dean didn't think it was broken, but it sure as hell was badly sprained.
Lowering his foot to the ground, Dean cautiously allowed it to bear some of his weight. Biting his lip, he took a couple of steps and felt involuntary tears spring to his eyes at the throbbing agony the abused muscles, tendons, and ligaments were broadcasting along his pain receptors. He roughly, angrily wiped at his eyes, leaving streaks of dark mud across both pale cheeks. Undeterred, the older Winchester brother ignored the pain, bricking it up behind a reinforced wall, and pushed forward.
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Sammy stopped howling but continued to whine anxiously as the stalled storm battered the region. Shaking, he looked around and began to paw frantically at the ground.
run?
hide?
scared
hide
hide
scared
Succeeding only in flinging around large splatterings of mud, the dog gave up digging at the ground and inched forward, determined to find a place to hide.
(SN) (SN) (SN)
The storm had long since ended its cosmic temper tantrum. The lightning surrendered first, while the thunder continued to stomp its feet for a short period of time. The rain, clearly the victor in the climatological battle of wills, only grudgingly halted its downpour from the sky quite some time after that. And now, hours later, the perpetually anemic sun had settled forlornly on the horizon, pushed down by the bullying quarter moon. The temperature had steadily dropped along with the sun.
Dean leaned against a tree and closed his bloodshot eyes, shivering in his still-damp clothes. He'd searched the woods all day and called for the dog till his voice was hoarse, all without success. Still no Sammy. His head was throbbing, keeping time with his still screaming ankle. But, there was no question of him stopping for the night. Dean intended to continue his search, just as soon as he found his way back to the Impala and grabbed a flashlight. And some painkillers. He pushed off the tree with a grunt and limped forward, using the good-sized branch he'd acquired along the way as a cane.
He sensed it was going to be a long night.