Warning: Same as the other chapters.
Author's Note: Yes, it gets better. Just hang in there!
Chapter 6: Getting Help
That night, sometime after nine, Dean left the motel room, armed and ready. He drove over to the other side of town, a little shocked that Sam had walked so far the night before.
He found the alley off East Street easily. It was the one cut off with bright yellow police tape, not conspicuous at all.
Dean parked a block up from the alley and locked the doors. The streets were surprisingly empty, but Dean knew from eavesdropping that day that most people were too worried to be out after dark. Too worried of going missing.
The hunter had no such qualms. He had complete confidence in his abilities. He had a shotgun filled with rock salt, a handgun filled with silver bullets, holy water and the EMF.
Of course, he ignored that nagging voice in his head telling him that he had complete confidence in Sam's hunting abilities, and yet the youngest Winchester had still been taken.
He backtracked to the alley, careful to watch all around him for any lurking strangers. He almost wished he would find someone, just to make the hunt easy. But no such luck; he ducked under the yellow tape, almost overwhelmed by the silence of the world around him.
He got out his flashlight and the EMF, sweeping with both at the same time. He did it once, quickly, and then again when the little lights on top refused to flash. Not a spirit then. He should have known though. No ozone smell. Not a demon either.
He pocketed the EMF and began to walk slowly over the scene, getting a little lost in the search for some clue. A few minutes later, having felt or seen nothing on the walls, he crouched by one of the easily visible bloodstains on the concrete. He only hoped it wasn't Sam's.
And then out of the corner of his eye, the flashlight swept over something white against the darker ground. Intrigued, Dean leant over and grabbed it, his fingers slipping slightly on the object.
He studied it closely, using the torch. He frowned slightly when he realized it looked much like a fang. It was one of the oddest looking fangs he had ever seen. He bent to study it closer, concentrating hard on the tooth. What in the world did it belong to?
Cracking glass was all the warning he had. Heart pumping instantly, Dean stood and turned, bringing up the shotgun just in time to block a machete swinging at his head.
His arm jarred at the impact, and he looked up at the man attacking with something very near shock. Jesus, the guy was strong. And apparently he didn't feel anything, shown by his next swing at Dean's body.
Dean jumped back, avoiding the end by mere inches. Then, using the guy's lack of balance, he rushed in, jabbing with the butt of the shotgun. The man fell back, arms swinging wildly, and he dropped the machete as he landed.
The hunter grabbed his shotgun in the right position and pointed it at the man on the ground. Okay, so it only had rock salt in it, but his attacker didn't know that.
"Who are you?" Dean demanded angrily, sure the man on the ground had something to do with Sam's disappearance.
However the man seemed incredibly unfazed about having a shotgun aimed in his face. Instead of cowering for his life in the manner Dean had hoped, the man grinned wildly and didn't answer.
Though to be honest, he never really had much chance to do so. Again, all Dean heard was a single footstep.
Keeping his hearing trained on the man on the ground, Dean twisted his head, groaning as he found himself face-to-face with a handgun, possibly loaded with very real and very fatal bullets. What was even worse was the fact that the man behind the gun was very familiar.
Dean turned his eyes back to the man on the ground. "Oh, perfect timing Holden," he snapped sarcastically. "Freaking cops, always show up exactly when you don't need 'em, hey buddy," he added conversationally to his attacker turned captive.
"Put the gun down, Connors," Holden barked. Dean rolled his eyes.
"I'm not letting this bastard get away, Holden," he answered, never letting his grip go on his gun.
"Yes you are. Put it down, now, before I take the pleasure of blowing a bullet in your leg."
Dean turned his head to stare indignantly at the cop. "Me? What the hell did I do? This loser's the one with answers to where all those people are!"
He shouldn't have let his eyes fall from the man. Using Dean's momentary lack of concentration, the man jumped to his feet, using his momentum to shove the hunter aside. Dean landed with a grunt on the wall, bouncing slightly, before spinning to aim at the fast retreating man.
One, two shots filled the air, and Dean stared at Holden, who had pulled his trigger. As he watched at least one bullet hit its mark, but that didn't seem to do anything: the man, or creature, kept on running, round the corner where it disappeared.
Holding his shoulder, Dean groaned. He hadn't even got off his own shots. Well, he supposed that was a good thing. It was going to be hard enough to explain the gun without the rock salt hanging in the air as well.
He moved to pick up his duffel bag, fully intent on ignoring the cop. Holden made it a bit difficult however as he returned the barrel of the gun to where Dean was standing.
The hunter stopped with a sigh, but it was more frustrated than anything. He just wanted to get back to the motel room, to find out what kind of creature the fang belonged to. Of course, with the cop's help, he hadn't been able to get the information he needed from the creature who had attacked him, so now he was pretty sure everything relied on the fang still in his hand.
"Don't move, Connors," Holden warned.
Dean frowned. "What? You can't be serious. What the hell did I do?"
"You're in a crime scene, you were fighting, and you're carrying around a shot gun. I want answers."
Dean rolled his eyes, and the cop made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. Dean ignored it. "Look, I'm just trying to find my brother," Dean explained. "Seeing as you lot aren't really doing much."
The cop began glaring. "We're trying, Connors."
"Yeah, well, that's working out shit, isn't it," Dean snapped back. He was angry. Angry at the man for attacking him, angry at Holden for interrupting, angry at Sam for disappearing. All he wanted to do was leave this town and it seemed to be doing everything in its power to make him stay. "How many people have disappeared now? Fourteen isn't it? And you have no freaking clue!"
To his surprise, Holden cocked the gun. "What do you know about these disappearances?" the man asked silkily.
Dean groaned with exasperation, trying not to appear daunted by the gun pointing at him. "Me? I know what you know. You just let the one with answers get away!"
"How do you know he had answers?"
"Because he attacked me," Dean explained. "Now, put the gun down."
To his surprise, the man did. Holden stood up straighter and let his arm drop to his side. He didn't put the gun away though. "You said you could help. How?"
Dean's jaw dropped. "Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked, stunned.
"You're right," Holden admitted. "We're getting nowhere. We need all the help we can get. So, I want you to help me."
He was lying, or not saying everything, but Dean found he didn't care about that for the moment. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," the hunter said, putting his hands up. "Back up. I said I wanted to help, but not with a particular person. Besides, I don't even like you."
Probably not the smartest thing to say to someone with a loaded gun, but the guy just grinned. "That's fine. I don't really like you either. But if you're helping, we do it together. I'm not sitting by on this. I think you can maybe solve these disappearances, get those people back and. I have to be apart of it."
"You have no idea what it is," Dean argued.
"Do you?" Holden argued back. Dean nodded.
"More than you'd believe," the hunter muttered. But he knew he wasn't getting away from this crime scene without a compromise. He sighed. "Look, fine. We work together. I have no idea why you want to, but fine. Come by my motel room tomorrow, and we go from there."
He started to walk off but Holden didn't appear finished. "Whoa, who died and made you in charge?"
Dean turned to face him. "You're kidding right? Look, I have experience at this, I know more about it, and I'm not working with you any other way. Besides, it wasn't really an order. More like a suggestion that you really should try and follow."
He left then, leaving Holden opening and closing his jaw angrily. He grabbed his duffel bag and ducked back under the tape. He was nearly to the Impala when he heard Holden call out.
"See you tomorrow then, Connors."
I know, no Sammy. Don't worry, next chapter, he's back! For now, bye! And thanks heaps for reading!