Yay! Action chapter! Well, towards the end…and next chapter…stick with me, we're getting to the good stuff. I couldn't wait to update, so I decided, well, I'll update again today. Cheers!

If you don't like violence, you might not like the next chapter—just a warning. And if you don't like angst—well, why are you reading my stories? Geez.

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Chapter Four: Decisions and Questions

"Are you sure he said Greenbay National Park?" Sam whispered loudly for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"I'm not deaf, dude! Yeah, that's what he said. Now, shut the hell up," Dean muttered. They were both crouched low behind a boulder at the edge of the park, scanning the horizon.

For what? Werewolves jumping out of the ground? Dean thought to himself. They had been waiting here for ten minutes while Dean made a last-ditch effort to come up with a viable strategy. They sped all the way out to the park, making it in barely an hour. It took another fifteen minutes to locate the woods, which happened to be luckily at the very edge of the state. Dean had never been in a national park before, and he wasn't sure what would happen if a ranger found them with two shotguns, three revolvers, and three knives between the two of them. Not to mention the bag of miscellaneous grenades, lighter fluid, matches, and so on.

Do they even have rangers here? Dean wondered. How is this gonna work out if some ranger finds us burning werewolf carcasses?

"Dean?" came Sam's impatient whisper.

"WHAT?" Dean's equally perturbed response was delivered in his expert exasperated big-brother tone.

"How are the werewolves changing if they only appear during the full moon?"

Dean was silent.

"That's a—a good question, Sammy,"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Yeah, I mean I don't know,"

"Dad hasn't been gone a month, and the maulings were never regular, so maybe these aren't werewolves,"

"Dad fought them, remember? He said they were werewolves,"

"Well, maybe Dad was wrong,"

Sam was pushing all of Dean's buttons. "Sammy, there are other ways for werewolves to change forms!" He tried to keep his tone even. "They could be working with a witch, they could know a spell, they could—there could be lots of things!"

"So then there aren't only werewolves in these woods? Is it going to be harder to kill them then?"

Dean shot daggers at Sam through his glare. If looks could kill…

"Samuel. I—do—not—know."

"So then they could be really powerful?"

"Holy shit!" Dean roared, the sound echoing off the empty clearing. Sam jolted like he had been shocked with a volt of electricity, cocking the gun. Dean strained to hear signs of things moving in the brush. It was silent for a few minutes before the brothers relaxed again, and Sam realized that question time was over. He really doesn't know…This was a whole new way to jump into things headfirst. Gambling with our lives. If we really don't know what's going on, how are we supposed to stop them?

"Dean."

"Sammy." Dean's patience was fast running out. He was fully content to clock his brother in the jaw to make him shut it.

"Did you remember to change the bullets in the guns?"

Dean's blood ran cold. "Huh?"

"Some still have rock salt in them from the last gig,"

Dean froze. Oh please please please… He kept his voice calm.

"I thought you did that. Back at the CAR."

"I thought you did it," Sam said innocently. Dean could practically see the halo around his brother's head. He wished it would drop around his brother's neck and shake him senseless for a few minutes.

"You stupid fucker," Dean hissed. "We have to go all the way back to the car now,"

"Okay, look. It's like a hundred feet from here, back behind those trees, right?" Sam motioned behind him, in the general direction of the entrance to the woods. "I'll go. And I can keep one of our zillion knives with me, it'll be fine. I can put the guns in the bag, and you keep the .99. It already has silver bullets,"

"Yeah, 'cause I loaded them myself, dipshit. And it's more like a thousand feet, remember? I moved the car so it wouldn't get fucked up," Dean's fury was not quelled with this. He clenched his teeth, hating the thought of his kid brother out there, by himself, unprotected. All we need now is a freaking natural disaster and we're good. Winchester luck, folks, it never lets you down, Dean stated in his head.

"Dude. There's WEREWOLVES out there, in case you forgot. They might enjoy a tasty little Sammy sampler, and I don't know if you want to lose a limb tonight…"

"Not over there, there aren't. The werewolves are in the woods. That—" a gesture behind him "-is not the woods,"

"Yeah, great observation, Sherlock," Dean smart-assed distantly, peering back behind them. We need those bullets, dammit!

Dean went through his options. Choice A- Let Sam go by himself, and risk the stupid ass accidentally harming himself or the car, or run into an angry werewolf or two. Then again, it's not that far to the Impala, and it's doubtful they'll venture that far out of the woods…

Choice B- I go and leave him to save Dad's ass and kill a pack of werewolves with one handgun and two clips of silver bullets…

"Okay, as long as you hurry up and be quiet. You don't have any funny feelings about this, do you?" Dean glanced hastily into his brother's face.

Sam grinned. "Do ya think I would have suggested this if I knew what the outcome would be?"

Dean stared at him. "Dude. That made absolutely no sense,"

Sam shrugged off Dean's look. "Whatever,"

Dean tossed him the car keys, trying to keep things quiet. "The bullets are in the trunk,"

"I know, in the bag."

Dean tried not to let on how worried he was as he watched Sam's figure recede into the darkness. He couldn't see him past the large oak tree, so he stopped looking and turned around. Shit, Sammy doesn't even have a cell to call me if he needs something…why hasn't Dad gotten him one yet?

Now, Dean was alone.

What makes me think Dad needs our help? What if he was telling the truth, and he isn't badly hurt? What if we just get in the way? Came the unbidden thoughts. Dean hated being alone in the woods; all silent, like…death.

I trust Sammy's judgement.

What if something happens to Sam?

"It won't," Dean said out loud, clapping a hand over his mouth when he realized his error. Sammy knew that nothing would go wrong…but he's only thirteen. Shit.

He rested his forehead on the smooth rock in front of him, crouching on the balls of his feet. He felt burdened with care, responsibility, that he didn't want.

It was then that he heard rustling in the trees directly in front of him—coming from the opposite direction of where Sam had gone.

Shit, Sammy. Dean panicked slightly, not feeling ready. Where's my backup when I need it? Yet he hoped against hope that Sam would stay gone until the threat was past—Sam had no idea how dangerous a tussle with werewolves could be. Stupid full moon. Or whatever the fuck is going on here. Dean felt real resentment for not getting the entire story from his dad beforehand. We're going about this entire thing in the dark.

Don't get in the way, little bro. Dean prayed with every fiber of his soul. He took careful aim with the revolver, grateful there was a full clip loaded in it, and an extra one right beside him.

The rustling and stopped, and the entire forest was even more unnaturally silent than before. If that's possible. The entire setup was creeping Dean out. Since when do werewolves sneak around like this? I'm one to talk…I've heard about, what? Two werewolf cases?

Dean waited, watching with eagle eyes at the place where the rustling had come from.

Come on come on come on…

Dean's breathing steadied as his finger tensed on the trigger. He did what their father had taught him; put everything out of your mind except for the battle ahead.

Dean forgot about his dad, lost his worry for Sam, and focused his pent-up energy on the thing in the woods. He thought he sighted a pair of glowing eyes in the green shrubbery, and aimed, only to have his concentration interrupted by a familiar sound that sent his heart leaping.

It was Sam's yell.

"DEAN!"

Dean broke his focus, spinning wildly in place.

"SAMMY!" Shit! I shouldn't have let him go, even when he said nothing would happen…goddamn it! Why didn't we teach him how to deal with werewolves before?

Dean knew the answer to his posed mental questions. Dad was going to teach him about werewolves after this gig…he was waiting until he was old enough…

Dean was trying to get a handle on his brother's location, as being on the edge of a forest caused a dull, dislocating echo to follow him. The gun dangled, forgotten, in his right hand. He tried to listen for any other sounds, but for some reason, there was no noise at all.

"SAMMY?" Dean shouted once more. He was sure it was just something else he heard—Sam's not in trouble.

But in response to his apprehension, he heard yells he knew too well.

He barely thought about it, before standing up from his position and running full speed back in the direction the brothers came, his stomach churning in fear of what he might find.

He never even saw the werewolf move to the edge of the trees behind him, before latching its claws into Dean's back in a horrifyingly graceful jump.

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