A/N: Thanks you to everyone that has commented, faved or alerted this story. I hope you enjoy this next chapter and let me know what you think of it. :D
Chapter 2
23 Hours earlier...
"So, how long is this silent thing gonna go on?" Dean asked in irritation. Usually he was trying to get Sam to shut up, but this whole cold shoulder, 'I'm not talking to you' bullshit was getting on his nerves.
Sam didn't answer, just kept his head turned, looking out the window.
"Look, I'm sorry about the whole prom thing, but I don't really get what the big deal is here. You can't seriously enjoy all that dancing and dressing up crap, can you?"
Silence again.
Dean sighed. "Then again, knowing you...you probably do like it, but wish you could have worn a gown instead of a suit."
This time it was Sam's turn to sigh and Dean could almost hear his eyes rolling. "Shut up, Dean." At least that got some kind of response from him, he thought.
"Get over it, Sam. I never went my prom and I somehow managed to survive."
"That's because you dropped out before you could even go to one." Sam mumbled back.
"Well, even if I hadn't, I still wouldn't have gone. It's all pretty stupid if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you." Sam finally lifted his head from the window. "Besides, you wouldn't get it."
"Get what? Why you would want to go to such a sissy event?"
"Ya know...maybe I wanted to go because for once...just once...I wanted to feel normal and do the things other guys my age do." Sam came back with vehemence.
"Guys your age like to go to formals and slow dance?"
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"Then what?..." Dean suddenly had a realization and a pretty girl in a pink dress popped into his head and he grinned. "Oh...I get it. You were hoping for a little 'bow chicka bow wow' with that Raquelle girl."
"Rachel, Dean. Her name is Rachel." Sam shot back, his face reddening and Dean knew he had hit the nail on the head.
"Whatever, dude. At least I see why you're such a whiny bitch now...sorry, man, didn't mean to cock block ya."
Sam grumbled something about Dean being an ass before abruptly changing the subject. "Where are we going anyway? And what's the hurry?"
"Montana. Caleb called dad, said he has a whole pack of werewolves he's tracked down to a cabin out in the mountains and he needs our help taking them out before the full moon, that's why we needed to leave right away."
Dean turned to his brother and saw the muscles in his jaw clench. "Werewolves...joy." Sam sarcastically uttered. "Can't think of anything better I'd rather be doing."
"Cheer up, Bro." Dean elbowed him, looking back at the road that stretched before them. He was pumped to get this hunt on and couldn't understand why Sam never took as much pride in ridding the world of nasties like these as he did. "We get to end these things before they hurt anyone else. Campers and hikers in those mountains will thank us for not letting them become dinner, that is if they really knew what was out there."
"I guess." Sam mumbled without any heart in it then went back to leaning his head against the window and watching the endless miles of scenery fly by.
Now
Sam wasn't sure what to do first.
An inner voice echoed through his ears. Call Dean, stupid.
Even the simplest movement to retrieve his cell phone from his back pocket was met with indescribable pain. Fire blasted from his wounded leg, shooting through nerves like a hot poker stabbing tender flesh. Crying out in agony, he pushed through it even when his stomach clenched intent on bringing up what little he had eaten that day and spots danced in front of his eyes like fireflies blocking his vision.
Finally, his fingers found the hard casing of the phone wedged in his pocket and he was able to get a firm enough grip on it to pull it out.
Sagging in relief to have his only connection to his brother in hand, Sam panted, trying desperately to pull in enough air to where he could speak again. He flipped the phone open with fumbling fingers that shook so intensely that even the easy act of dialing had become a struggle.
He was halfway though punching in Dean's number when he finally noticed the service icon in the corner of the screen held no bars.
"No no no no." He moved the phone up and scanned around, praying for just one bar to appear, but none never did. Defeated, his snapped the damned thing shut and found himself back at square one again.
He resorted to option two: screaming at the top of his lungs.
"DEAN!" He shouted as loudly as his voice would allow. "DAD!"
He listened carefully after shouting until his voice gave out for any kind of response, but heard nothing.
Now what to do?
He could stay put and hope that Dad and Dean came looking for him, but this was a big forest and the chances of them just happening to stumble upon him were less than remote. He could have fired his gun into the air to draw some attention to his location, but all of his bullets were spent and he could only hope that the others had heard the shots he had fired only minutes ago, but even then, there was a good chance that he was well out of hearing range.
Out of options and starting to shiver wildly thanks to the cold rain and what was most assuredly shock, Sam knew he would have to be the one to get himself out of the forest and back to Dean and Dad.
First things first though, he would have to do is stanch the blood flowing from the injury even if it was going to hurt like a sonofabitch. Cursing himself for leaving his pack with the first-aid supplies behind, he had to take a moment to get his mind working and fight the panic that was threatening to take over his senses. Think he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Think.
Sufficiently calmer after taking in a few deep breaths, Sam had come up with a plan. Though it was far from a good plan by any stretch of the imagination, it was the best he could come up with giving his trouble thinking straight.
Shoring up as much determination as he could, Sam dared to take a look again at his leg. The renewed sight of his torn flesh and blood came at him with a strange sort of detachment. The leg felt like it didn't belong to him at all, as if it was merely an alien attachment connected to his body that he needed to fix.
Quaking with fear, knowing that his next move wasn't going to be easy, Sam gritted his teeth and set to work. Stripping off his coat, he took the flannel shirt he had on underneath and pulled it off as well until he was down to just a thin t-shirt.
Teeth chattering from the shock of the cold, biting air, Sam quickly put his coat back on then approached the injury hesitantly. Hanging from the side of the gaping hole, a thick strip of torn skin lay flapped open to expose muscle and bone to the open air. Shaking all over, he fought for control over his hands as he guiding them towards his leg. He stopped just before touching anything, anticipating that once he did, he'd be in a world of pain that he had never experienced before.
Just like stripping off a band-aid, he assured himself, do it quickly. Panting, Sam urged himself forward, moving as fast as his quivering hands would allow, grabbing the hanging, flap of flesh and folding it back over the gaping hole in his leg. He hadn't been wrong in his estimation of the pain, screaming out loud as he performed his own first-aid. Tears leaked involuntarily from his eyes and through blurry, wavering vision, he just wanted it all to stop, to pass out already, but he pushed through it, grunting, groaning and crying until he had the flannel shirt wrapped tightly around his injury, holding the skin flap in place and hopefully controlling the bleeding.
After tying the shirt off to secure it in place, he fell backwards and hit the ground, arching his back and writhing against the stabbing pain that traveled up his leg, into his hips and coursed through his whole body.
Darkness descended on him too quickly for him to fight it, but the promise of leaving the pain behind if only for a few moments was enough to allow it to swallow him whole.
12 hours earlier
The Montana sky was already bright with the morning sun when John pulled into the parking lot of the motel Caleb had called him from and parked his truck. Moments later Dean took up the space next to his with the car and killed the engine.
John was the first one out, taking a moment to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. He remembered it being so much easier to drive all night long twenty years ago and he envied the way Dean hopped out of the car still looking somewhat fresh and ready to fight while he knew he would need about a gallon of coffee to keep him alert. Sam on the other hand already had an irritated air about him, which wasn't surprising giving the abruptness of their departure last night, but it still raised John's ire.
Appraising his son's, John was unable to not draw comparisons between the two. While Dean had always been a bundle of energy, eager to learn everything he could teach him about hunting and even as a child and teen he had been easy-going even in the direst of situation, Sam had been almost the complete opposite. He could tell from all of the training and exercises he put the boys through, that his youngest's heart just wasn't into any of it, which frustrated John to no end.
Sure, Sam was smart, scary smart in fact, but how could he keep his son from getting hurt if he spent more time studying than learning the hunting trade and how to protect himself?
He did his best to encourage the kid to train harder, to push himself to his limits, but often times when that failed, John found himself resorting to anger and shouting in his desperate attempt to get Sam to apply himself more to the job.
That seemed to work for the most part up until Sam turned about fourteen and he started to rebel against his authority. Talking back, questioning orders, rolling his eyes; all things Sam knew triggered John's anger, he seemed to do on a regular basis. It was something John had hoped he would eventually outgrow, but the problems between the two of them only seemed to be escalating as of late.
And today it looked like things hadn't changed much given the sour face Sam was wearing. He didn't offer any apologies for taking Sam away from his date, the boy was eighteen now and needed to know that there were more important things than hooking up with girls when there were things out there killing people.
He blamed some of Sam's resistance to his orders on his own laxness and decision to take an extended time-off after John broke his hand, wrist and arm on a hunt several weeks ago. Unable to squeeze a trigger made the job next to impossible, so setting up house in a rented cabin in that Podunk Nebraska town and letting Sam finish out the school-year there had been more of a necessity than anything else.
But, now that he was healed and Sam had finished his classes, he didn't see the point in sticking around, besides he was chomping at the bit to get back into the game, glad that Caleb had called for his help. Hopefully this job might be just what was needed to get Sam back on track as well and a good opportunity for John to nip some of Sam's attitude in the bud.
John approached his sons, watching Sam, who refused to meet his eye. "Alright you two, get your stuff. Caleb should be inside." No sooner had John stated that when the motel door opened and a grinning Caleb strode out of the room.
"John!" He greeted, walking up to the veteran hunter and shaking his hand. "Thought I heard that beast of a truck pull up."
"Caleb." John returned the greeting, clasping his shoulder briefly. "It's been a while."
"Too long. Glad you could get out here so quickly."
"It was no problem." John assured him. Caleb turned from John and looked over at Sam and Dean.
"Dean. Good to see ya, kid" Dean shook Caleb's hand with a big grin flashing across his face.
"You too, Caleb."
Caleb's attention went to Sam next. "Sam? Do you ever stop growing, boy? I swear you must be feeding this kid miracle-Gro or something, John. How've you been?"
Despite, his earlier dour expression, Sam's face brightened. "Not bad. You?"
"Still alive, which is a miracle in and of itself most days."
John was ready for the reunion to be over with already so they could get down to business. "Why don't we all go inside now and you can tell us more about this case of yours, Caleb."
Caleb nodded then gestured to the door. "Absolutely, c'mon in guys."
All three Winchester's followed Caleb into the room and shut the door behind them. Caleb offered them coffee, which John readily took as did Dean while Sam politely refused.
"Well...I'm really glad y'all could come 'cuz I could use all the manpower I can get on this one." Caleb walked over to a round table covered with maps and papers, John followed and looked over his shoulder while the younger man pulled out a map marked with red notes.
"Last month a body was found on one of the trails here" He pointed to a circle on the map. "...heart was missing. A couple days after that there was another, here. Police are claiming them both to be victims of a wild animal attack, most likely timber wolves."
"So you think its definitely a werewolf?" Sam asked.
"More than that. I did some tracking from the spots where the bodies were found and there was definitely more than one creature. I kept following the tracks they left behind and found myself at a remote cabin deep in the forest. I staked it out for a couple of days and saw three guys living there. Now, if my hunch is right, then these guys make up a pack and hunt as a team."
"I didn't think werewolves hunted in packs." Dean spoke up.
"Most of them are solitary." John agreed. "But, it's not unknown for some of them to run together and form clans."
"Yep...That's what I think we got here and come the full moon tonight, they should be ready for their transformation, so we got to get to them before they can attack any one else."
John nodded, feeling a tingle of anticipation building inside of him. "Guess we better come up with a plan fast then."
Now
The soft and continual patter of water hitting his face pulled Sam away from the blissful peace that unconsciousness had brought him and he reluctantly pulled his heavy eyelids open to stare up at the forest canopy. Sam wasn't sure how long he had been out, but seeing that the sky was still just as dark and heavy with rain as it had been before he passed out, told him that it hadn't been for very long. He had hoped that it all had just been some sort of terrible dream, that when he opened his eyes he would find himself in a nice, warm bed with Dean snoring away across the room, but the stark reality of it all hit home when a chill coursed through his body and caused his teeth to chatter wildly and his limbs to vibrate with shivering quakes.
Staying put was no longer an option, he would surely freeze and die of shock if he did. He had to move, had to keep his blood pumping and his temperature up if he was going to live.
A groan escaped from deep within his throat when he forced himself up into a sitting position. The agony in his leg had ebbed somewhat thanks to the tight makeshift bandage he had placed on it, but it still throbbed and pulsated with an an unabated pain that stabbed him whenever he made any sort of movement.
Sam knew that walking on the leg was going to be impossible without something to act as a crutch. Scanning the area, he was grateful for once that he was in a forest and there was no shortage of downed limbs and sticks that were long enough and strong enough to support him. He spotted one in particular that lay not too far from him, but in order to reach it, he had to scoot over several feet on his behind, jarring his leg in the process, but he pushed through the pain, tightly grinding his teeth until he could grasp it.
He tested the branch, finding it strong and almost as long as he was tall. He quickly snapped off the protruding twigs until he had it suitable for hobbling with then braced himself for his next challenge.
Getting onto his feet was far harder and more painful than he had hoped, but using the branch to pull himself up onto his good leg was accomplished in one swift movement despite the pounding of his heart in his chest and the dizzy spell that followed the change in position.
Tears of pain and exhaustion quickly gave way to stubborn anger. He was not going to die out here, not in this crappy forest and not because he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough like his father thought he was. With those thoughts fueling him, he put his body weight into the stick, careful to make sure his injured leg never touched the ground then took his first, determined step forward.
TBC...
