Author's note – Hi there! First of all I'd just like to thank everyone for all the wonderful comments and feedback I have received so far. You're all amazing people! I also just want to say that this chapter took some doing. I completely suck at fight scenes so I must have redone it about five times before settling on this. Sigh. Oh well, happy reading! =D
Chapter Thirteen
Luther didn't waste any time. The moment the door was open, he leapt forward into the chamber.
"Come and get it, you filthy mutt!" he bellowed with a ferocity that surprised even Sam, who stumbled after him, clinging to the wall for support, fatigue weighing him down and slowing his movements so much so that it felt as though he were walking under water.
Upon reaching the open doorway, he came to a stop, fear stilling his sluggish efforts altogether.
He couldn't see clearly as both Luther and the wolf were already engaged in a heated battle, grappling and snapping and snarling at each other as they fought frenziedly in the centre of the white room, but he could see enough to know that the Were was big, reaching a much larger height than any normal wolf could ever hope to reach.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied faces at the window. Luther was right; the humans were watching this. The glass was dark and it was hard to make out the features of everyone there but he could see John, stood tall and proud and grim at the very front of the small crowd and next to him was Gabriel, watching the fight before him with a rapt intensity.
Sam turned away, not wishing to know who else was there to view this morbid display.
Luther suddenly screamed. This time out of pain, not anger and Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was a battle and though he and Luther could no longer be called comrades, they both had a common enemy and that enemy was upon them.
He was weak and tired and unsure that he'd be able to do anything against such a great beast but he knew he couldn't just stand there and watch as someone he had grown up with was slaughtered.
With a groan of exertion, he managed to push himself from the wall and stagger towards the pair, not really knowing what he was going to do, unarmed as he was, just that he had to do something.
The wolf had Luther pinned under him, large claws digging deep into the vampires chest as he bucked and struggled uselessly under its weight.
The Were didn't even spare a glance at Sam as he crept up silently behind it, though whether that was because it really hadn't noticed him or because it didn't think he posed any kind of threat, he was unsure.
When Sam was close enough to touch the wolf, he leapt, not his usual graceful leap, more of a limp fall really, but he managed to land upon its back, wrap his arms around its middle and squeeze.
It probably didn't feel like much more than an overly tight embrace but the wolf reared back with a surprised yelp anyway.
Sam clung tighter and fought with the only weapon he had at his disposal.
He bit the wolf.
Right on the back of its neck.
Disgusting didn't even begin to cover it. Sam suddenly had a mouthful of coarse, bristly fur and his senses were overwhelmed by the stench of dog. Any blood that did manage to get past the beast's mane and into the vampire's mouth, he let dribble back out again.
Alongside Deadman's blood, Were's blood was also taboo. Sam wasn't sure why or what would happen to him he actively tried to drink it but the smell alone was enough to put him off.
The wolf snarled and twisted around to snap at Sam but at that moment, Luther, now free, sprung up from the ground and bound an arm around the creature's muzzle with a manic grin.
"You're like a cockroach, Sammy, no matter how many times I try to kill you, you just keep on coming back."
Sam came up for air and glared at Luther who just chuckled and tightened his grip on the struggling wolf.
"But right now, I'm grateful for it." And with that, Luther followed Sam's lead and bit into the wolf's neck.
No sooner had he done it that the wolf gave a mighty roar that shook the windows and hurt the ears as he reared back onto his hind legs and thrashed around so wildly that Luther immediately dropped back onto the floor and Sam was thrown aside to crash into the wall. His head hit the tiles with a resounding crack and his vision dimmed as he fell to the ground.
He looked about wildly and he struggled to his hands and knees, trying to see past the black dots dancing before his eyes and hear something beyond the shrill ringing in his ears.
Through the darkness, the shape of the wolf could just about be seen as it crept closer to a much smaller, crumpled figure just that could only be Luther.
A lot of what happened next was lost to Sam but there were screams, gut wrenching, terrible screams, flashes of bright red and the slick, wet sound of flesh being torn apart.
And then suddenly, before Sam even had the chance to register Luther's death, the Were was upon him, huge paws knocking him onto his back and then settling into place on either side of his shoulders, caging him in.
The shock of it seemed to momentarily disperse the shadows from Sam's sight, sending them to the very edge of his vision, not gone, just waiting, and he stared up in horrified wonder.
Up close, the wolf held a strange sort of beauty that he had not noticed before. Its gleaming coat was thick and dark, and its eyes (eyes that were glaring down at him with a rage so strong, Sam could practically feel it) were a dazzling, bright blue, the colour of a clear summer sky.
The sharp fangs protruding from its gaping maw, however, Sam could find nothing beautiful about. Especially when said fangs were now crimson with blood and lowering ever closer towards his exposed neck.
It was at that moment that Sam gave up. It was easy really. Not even a choice he consciously made. His mind just shut down and with it, everything else. He was filled with a sense of calm, all the aches and pains that had been a constant for Sam recently, fading away into nothing.
When the wolf's teeth closed around his throat, he closed his eyes, waiting for them to sink in and end it all.
A moment passed.
Two moments.
Sam opened his eyes when the Were suddenly pulled back, regarding the vampire with a confused tilt of the head before surging back down to bury its face into the side of Sam's neck, right where Luther had bitten him earlier, snuffling and sniffing with a cold, wet nose.
After what seemed like an age, the wolf slowly drew away, its features already shrinking back, dark fur receding until only pale skin could be seen.
Within seconds, it was no longer a wolf above Sam but a man. A man with a shock of black hair and the same blazing, blue eyes.
"What are you?" the man asked, voice like gravel.
Instead of answering, Sam finally allowed the darkness to take him.
He dreamed.
He dreamed of the long summer nights of his youth, spent running around and exploring with Benny, of the young vampire girl he'd crushed on hard before realising she had a bigger appetite for blood than most of the adults he knew. He dreamed of his mother, stroking soft fingers through his hair whenever he was upset and promising him that everything would be alright.
When he woke, soft hands were still threaded in his hair and for one disorienting moment, he thought he was back home.
But this time is was different. The hands were restricting, not comforting and there was something being held above his open mouth. Warmth trickled across his tongue, down his throat and instinct took over.
He seized hold of whatever it was at his mouth and bit into it, relishing the heat that flooded into his mouth and the feeling of euphoria that shot through his veins, the feeling of life.
He hadn't drunk nearly enough when what he was biting into began to pull away. With a whimper, he followed it, reluctant to let it go but then the hands at his head pulled back and he didn't have the strength to fight them. His mouth relinquished its hold with a small pop as he fell back onto something soft and springy.
"Did he get enough?" a voice asked and Sam's eyes sprung open to find Dean standing over him, with a pained face and clutching a bleeding arm to his chest.
Cold realisation washed through Sam. What had he done? Suddenly it wasn't warmth and life he could taste in his mouth, it was blood, cloying and coppery and oh so wrong.
He twisted to his side, retching violently; so hard it brought tears to his eyes.
"Hold him!" a voice cried, this one belonging to a female, presumably the one who had been holding his head.
More hands appeared before him, obviously trying to follow the woman's orders but he twisted further away to escape their grasp, only to find the soft surface beneath him disappear.
He gasped when he hit the hard floor, dimly noting he'd just fallen out of bed, and scrambled back until he hit the wall, breathing hard and trying to stop the rolling in his stomach.
"Hey, hey," Dean said soothingly, holding his hands up in surrender as he approached and knelt slowly before Sam. "You're okay. You're okay now."
Sam stared at the blood running down the bite in Dean's arm, feeling queasy and more than a little guilty.
Dean noticed the look but didn't understand the reason behind it. "Are you still hungry?" he asked, extending his arm out yet again and Sam recoiled, pressing himself further into the wall.
"No! I don't want it. I don't want it."
Just as quickly as he had extended his arm, Dean yanked it back. "Okay. I'm sorry."
Sam closed his eyes and just breathed. Trying to make sense of everything. Trying to understand how he had gone from fighting off a werewolf to fighting of a feeding.
"Where am I?" he asked finally.
"The infirmary," the female voice answered and Sam looked up at her as she walked around the bed to stand behind Dean. She was pretty, in a motherly kind of way, with short dark hair and warm brown eyes. "You were badly hurt. To tell you the truth you almost died. You'd lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. So we decided to give you some." she clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder.
"Universal donor," Dean shrugged with a lopsided smile.
"And it seems to be working wonders," the woman continued. "You're already looking much better."
Sam glanced down at himself and sure enough, the cuts and bruises he had acquired during his stay here were beginning to close up and heal. Not as fast as Luther's had but they at least hurt a lot less.
Before he could think on it further, the doors on the other side of the room flew open and in strode the same man that had pinned Sam to floor just a while earlier, Garth bustling in behind him.
Dean stood slowly, placing himself directly between the werewolf prince and Sam, who found the gesture strangely endearing but completely unnecessary. If the Were wanted him dead, he would have killed him already.
"Your Highness, I really think that we should wait for him to recover before - " Garth started but was silenced when the prince raised his hand. "You may go."
Garth stumbled to a halt, looking vaguely insulted, before giving a heavy sigh and withdrawing from the room.
"Dean," The Were greeted, nodding at the hunter. "Doctor Mills."
"Your Highness," the woman, Doctor Mills, replied.
"How is he?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Dean replied stonily.
The prince blinked, as if surprised by Dean's tone (which he probably was – he was a prince after all) and then turned his piercing gaze down on Sam, who suddenly felt very silly, huddled on the floor as he was.
"Are you recovered?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm alive."
"Good. Then I suppose you won't mind answering my earlier question." He stepped closer until he was practically on top of Sam again, completely ignoring the daggers Dean was glaring into his back.
"I'll ask you only once more. What are you?"