Hunter of the Shadows Book 3
Enemy at the Door.
Chapter 11
Now…
The camera has been left on. The battery should have given out by now, but clearly it's been connected up to either the cabin's electricity generator, or the Impala.
Sam and Dean are snuggled up in wolf form, curled around each other like a couple of overgrown pups, snoring away like road drills. Matthew and Logan are also cuddled together in a smaller version of the Sam and Dean puppy pile.
Altogether now, one, two, three….Awwwwwww!
In the back ground, one can make out various other wolves, some on their backs with their paws in the air, others curled up like giant dormice. Pastor Jim is snoozing away under a blanket, while Bobby has found a sleeping bag from somewhere and all that can be seen of him is that scruffy old ball cap.
Night is on its way out, and the slowly lightening sky suggests that dawn is not far off.
But a large silhouette appears from the tree line. It sniffs and snorts, and is then joined by two others and a much smaller third one. The four shadows sniff the air then quietly lumber over to the fire, completely unafraid of the red, hot coals or the large number of wolves snoozing away nearby.
Sam opens one eye and uses to his snout to gently nudge at Dean's ear.
All remains silent as the shapes move closer and are revealed as three large bears and a bear cub. They sniff at the remains of the food, and one of the larger ones sits down on its rear; it lifts a mead flask clumsily in both paws to take a long, satisfying slurp, then smacks its lips noisily and gurgles.
Sam and Dean suddenly spring to attention, howling fiercely at the intruder, who promptly drops the flask and falls over backwards in fright. Its' large paws come up, and it's flailing helplessly like a beetle on its' back, whimpering loudly.
The howling goes through several octaves while Sam and Dean change to human form, and it becomes apparent that they are laughing their heads off.
"If you go down to the woods today…" Sam sings, rather badly out of tune, as it happens, while Dean nearly chokes with laughter. "You're in for one helluva surprise!"
The other bears pad over to their stricken kin. They also appear to be laughing, in so far as the digital audience can tell. They are bears, after all.
The bear rolls back over, and changes into a small human with dark hair and a sulky pout.
"Dudes! You scared the shit out of me!" he says, sitting up. He grabs a nearby discarded blanket and wraps it around himself.
Dean shakes his head, grinning. "Good to see you too, Andy."
The other bears change into a another tiny guy, a matching tiny and attractive woman with dark hair, while the bear cub launches itself at Sam, burying it's little snout in his neck.
"Hey baby bear," he says, affectionately, wrapping his arms around the cub. He glances up at the others with a huge, delighted smile. "Jose, Gerald, Andy… what the hell took you so long?"
"We got a little sidetracked," says Jose with a tinge of frustrated amusement. "Andy here insisted on showing his little sister how to fish."
"Only, he hasn't quite mastered that himself just yet," says Gerald, trying to smother a grin. "Keeps falling into the river and frightening the little blighters!"
"Still a little clumsy there, huh, Andy?" Sam's smile widens.
Andy scowls but comes forward to give both Sam and Dean an affectionate hug.
"Hey! I still managed to catch something… eventually," he grumbles, good naturedly, then brings forth a large parcel wrapped in leaves. "Salmon for breakfast anyone? I caught several and they're huge!"
Dean stares hard at it. "I don't even wanna know where you were carrying that!"
"Me neither," Sam nods. "Might give us nightmares."
Despite the early morning, everyone's soon waking up and Victoria sets to cooking the salmon, after hugging the werebears and welcoming them.
In the meantime, Dean settles back down along with Sam, and the two of them continue to log their exploits while the werebears listen with interest…
Then…
Sam was quiet for the rest of the day, and it wasn't until he got up and headed for the bathroom that I remembered he hadn't yet eaten. Poor kid was shaking, clearly pushed to the limit, yet he shook his head when I offered to help.
I stared after him, watching his slumped shoulders retreating behind the bathroom door. Depression and cabin fever from being stuck in this room was weighing heavily on us all, but for Sam this whole business was really testing him.
"Hey, Tobius?" I called, softly.
Sire was seated at his desk again, doing something on the computer. He looked up at me.
"I know," he replied, just as softly. "Missouri's on her way as we speak. She just sent an email. Apparently, Dave is with her."
"Yeah," I nodded and fisted my hands. "But we need to get out. To hunt. And Sammy needs to change."
Though it had only been a few days of incarceration, it felt like weeks since we last went outside.
Sire smiled. "Castiel is going to take us out with him, but we can't be gone long in case word gets back to Crowley. We'll be sitting ducks."
I frowned, thinking that over. "Sammy won't be strong enough to run for long, anyhow."
"It's ok," Sam suddenly announced from the bathroom door. He must have taken a real quick shower, because his hair was wet and he was rubbing himself down with a fluffy towel. "You guys go without me. I can just change here for a little while."
"Uh uh!" I said immediately. "I'm not leaving you here on your own, especially not with what's been going on. We'll just have to take it slow."
"Dean," Sam sighed and leaned against the door frame. "I'm tired, weak, and sick. You can't enjoy yourself out there with me hanging on your tail the whole time."
I wanted to be angry with him for even thinking that but, instead, I just grinned.
"Wouldn't be the same without you there," I reached over and gently pulled him into the room. "How can I enjoy the hunt without you there to do all my dirty work, huh? Can't expect a future alpha to gut and clean his own food, bitch!"
"Right, 'cos you're just too precious for that, jerk!" Sam replied, dryly, and sat down on the bed just as someone started knocking loudly at the front door.
Tobius got up and motioned for us to stay where we were. He approached the door silently and sniffed the air, then, with a swift nod in my direction, he yanked it open to reveal Dave and Missouri both carrying two covered trays.
"Dinner is served, boys!" Missouri announced with a huge smile and a wink.
I heard Sam sigh with relief when the scent of roast beef, gravy and mash potatoes wafted our way.
"Oh thank God!" he muttered and slid off the bed, eyeing the trays hungrily. Not waiting for Tobius to let our guests in, Sam stumbled over, lifted the lid on Missouri's tray and closed his eyes, savouring the smell.
Missouri's eyes widened. "Sweet Mary, the poor child's starving!"
"I'm afraid there hadn't been much opportunity to feed him," said Tobius, sadly. "He's been mostly unconscious since we arrived here."
Sam whimpered, snout morphing in and out, ears climbing up the side of his head. He was licking his lips and gazing pleadingly at Cook, barely able to speak, so great was his hunger.
"Pl-please…" he whispered, pawing gently at the tray, as though fighting the instinct to just rip it out of her hands.
"Here, child," said Missouri, kindly. "You take it. I can always get your family more."
When Sam glanced over at me, seeking approval, his eyes were watering. He looked hungry and guilty and generally miserable as all hell.
"Go ahead, kid," I said, nodding at the food. "You need it more than we do right now."
Sam barely made it back to the bed, before he fell on the food, the tray shaking in his hands. It took him precisely two minutes to polish off an entire joint of beef, a heap of mash potatoes, and a mound of green garden peas. And, judging by the look on his face, he was still hungry.
Dave didn't say a word, just pushed the other tray into Sam's hands and lifted the lid.
Another huge joint of beef awaited him.
The look Sam threw Dave was so full of gratitude that I swear the guy nearly burst into tears. Instead he just nodded and turned away.
"Feeling better?" I asked a few minutes later, after the second joint had gone south.
Sam licked his lips. "Ohhhh yeah," he said, then suddenly tensed up.
At first I thought it was another seizure but Sam just gulped and turned guilty eyes on Cook.
"I'm so sorry," he began. "What you must think of me… I didn't even wait to introduce myself before taking the food…"
"I think," said Missouri, coming closer and reaching for one of Sam's hands, which he willingly gave. "That you don't need any introductions, honey. I know exactly who you are."
She smiled, brushed a hand through his floppy hair, as though he was one of her own pups, and stared deep into his eyes.
"You needed food and that ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," she continued, her voice quiet and soothing. "So, you want anymore?"
Sam gazed at her, sleepily. "No," he whispered, sounding a little stoned. "I'm ok, now."
"Dean," she said, quietly, not looking away from Sam. "Come over here, child. Your boy needs you."
Just as I sat down beside him, Sam passed out against me.
"What the…?" I grunted, startled when his dead weight nearly forced me off the bed. Wrapping an arm round the kid, I glanced questioning up at Cook.
"It's ok," said Missouri, calmly. "He's just sleeping. It's better for him this way."
I glanced over at Tobius, who nodded confidently and turned to Dave.
"I had a feeling you'd ask Cook for help on this one," said Sire.
Dave shrugged. "Seemed to be the logical choice. She's the only one around here who's dealt with such matters before."
I felt confused. "What matters? What the hell you guys talking about?"
"Possessions, of course," answered Missouri. "And I sometimes help humans to overcome unwanted... guests in their homes." She stared at me. "But I'm also the one they send all the pups to after they've been rescued from the fight arena. They're often very troubled and need counselling, particularly the ones who had to actually fight."
"I see," nodding, I looked at Sam, sleeping peacefully, his head resting on my shoulder.
The only thing worse than getting killed out there in the arena, must have been surviving the aftermath and suffering the guilt of knowing you'd been forced to kill one of your own.
I changed the subject before things could get too maudlin. "So, you're the local Dr Phil? Great. Just what we need," but it came off a little more snarky and sarcastic than I had intended.
"Dean…" Sire began, frowning, but Missouri proved quite capable of defending herself.
"Don't you sass me, boy!" she said, haughtily. "Sam ain't the first one I've come across to suffer spiked Sleepworm. Those fight arenas are always experimenting, often just for fun. But he is the first werewolf I know of to actually become possessed. Whoever figured out how to do it is one clever little bastard, and I hope we can put a stop to it before it all goes too far. But if in the meantime Sam needs help to deal with the after effects, then you betcha I'm your Dr Phil!"
I blinked.
Sire snorted with laughter. "That'll teach you to answer back, pup."
So I admit I was a little rude.
"I'm sorry, ok? I'm just worried." I shrugged forlornly. "Sam doesn't deserve any of this."
Fortunately for me, Missouri forgave easily.
"I know, child, and neither do you," she said, gently cupping my chin and smiling sadly. "Now let's get to work, huh?" she turned to the doc. "Dave? I need you to go get something for me…"
The devil's trap Sire drew on the stone floor from earlier was to prove useful after all.
Dave stood by, carrying some strange glass phial with a rubber bung for a lid. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and a real delicate looking thing.
He nodded. "Ok, all ready for you, Cook."
I sighed heavily and stared at Sam. There he was, once again, chained to a damn chair in the middle of a damn devil's trap.
"Our lives really are becoming rather farcical, eh?" said Tobius, perhaps reading my thoughts, and clapping me on the shoulder. "I think I've lost count of the number of times we've been forced to chain up or handcuff your son over the years. We must have earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records by now."
I gave out a loud snort of reluctant laughter.
Sam sat, unmoving, eyes closed and looking peaceful, totally unaware of the hell his body was about to go through.
Missouri had explained it all to us.
The spirit from the Sleepworm was physical. There was no exorcising it, or banishing it. It had to be literally pulled out of Sam, using a combination of Cook's psychic abilities and some weird concoction of herbs and dirt she'd brought with her, and that was going to hurt. Even with all the wolf's bane we pumped into the kid's body so he wouldn't undergo a painful, involuntary change, it would still be unpleasant.
And that's where Cook's other talents had come into play. She'd sent Sam into a deep slumber. So deep, in fact, that the black Sleepworm spirit couldn't touch him.
As soon as she stepped inside the trap, placed the small bags of dirt at each of the five points and laid a hand on Sam's head, the spirit soon showed itself once again.
Sam's eyes snapped open. The weird purple glow now looked terrifying.
"III seeee youuuuu witch!" he hissed, then snapped at the Cook, body jerking in his seat. "He is mineeeeee!"
The chair rocked with the force of his movements, the chains stretched tight across his chest and arms.
"Youuu can't have hiiiimmmm he is mineeeee!" it repeated, angrily.
Missouri's eyes narrowed. "I think the boy's daddy might have something to say 'bout that."
The spirit threw back Sam's head and laughed, an evil roar that echoed chillingly round the room.
"Youu think sooo?" it grinned, saliva dripping down Sam's chin. "'Cosss I hear hissss daddy wantssss himmm back…"
My ears pricked up.
"Wait!" I called out, when Missouri raised her other hand to begin the pull. I paced around the outside of the trap for a few seconds before turning back to the Sleepworm spirit. "I am Sam's father," I stated firmly.
The thing with Sam's face grinned, evilly.
"But John Winchessster isss the one who created him. You will never be Sssam'ssss real father… and now, John Winchessster wantsss him downstairssss where he belongssss…"
Sam's body jerked again, then literally poured out from between the chains as though he were made of liquid.
"What the fuck?" I tried to get inside the trap, but met with an invisible barrier. The spirit was using the trap to its own advantage, keeping me at bay and away from Sam. "Sammy!"
Missouri wasted no more time and began the pull while she still could, hand held out over the kid's heart. The chains hit the floor and Sam leapt up, eyes flashing purple, body now solid once again and ready for an attack, but Missouri's hold on him was far too strong. She twisted her hand, and a thick, black substance oozed out of Sam's eyes, nostrils, ears and mouth, following her as she stepped back, drawing it away from Sam.
The Sleepworm spirit fought hard, desperate to retain its' host, but unable to resist the psychic pull. Sam choked up large mouthfuls of the black ooze, and fell back into his seat, slumped and out for the count.
Missouri nodded to Dave who threw the glass phial into the air. When it hit the barrier of the trap, the spirit had no choice. It was sucked into the phial with a loud thunk.
Missouri caught the phial and plugged it up with the rubber bung.
I stared in amazement.
"And that, ladies and gentleman," said Missouri, with a flourish. "is Sleepworm in all it's glory."
She held the bottle up to the light. It was impossible to see through it, but I could make out the angry movements of one very pissed off and captured spirit in the blackness.
This was it, in essence.
Sleepworm consists of spirits or souls summoned from hell, not yet demons but well on their way to it. During life they were probably psychic, or carried some form of natural power, but made the mistake of misusing it. To become Sleepworm, they are bound using black magic to the distilled oils of a rare kind of black plantain which, under other circumstances, would be highly poisonous. It not only gives them that black, fluid like appearance, but also makes them semi-corporeal. Which means that under the right conditions, and with a powerful enough psychic, they can be pulled, or extracted, into glass.
But this one had been spiked with rage, and God knew what else.
This was worrying, because it meant the fight arena organisers were half way towards werewolf demon possession.
A soft moan from the chair had me crossing over the now inactive devil's trap, and carefully checking Sam over.
His eyes fluttered open and he stared up at me.
"Is it gone?" he whispered.
I glanced over at the glass phial Missouri was showing Tobius.
"Oh, I think so," I replied, and gently tugged Sam from the chair. I peered into his face. "How you feeling, Sammy?"
"I'm ok," he said, nodding slowly at first, then with a little more enthusiasm. "Feel great, in fact. Better than I have for a while, now."
He certainly seemed ok, back to his old self from before Jake nearly killed him up at Mont Noir, in fact, judging by the newly returned twinkle in his eyes. Pulling that black sludge from Sam also drew out any lingering toxins and silver. The spirit probably fed on that stuff, which would explain why Sam got his sight back.
Kind of like the most evil detox in the world and I'm pretty sure it's not one you'll find at a Betty Ford Clinic.
We were all feeling good about things. Sam was better, he could see, Missouri had pulled the Sleepworm from his body, breaking the trigger, and Marcus was going to be fine. The only thing we had to deal with now was John Winchester…
"Tobius? Open up!" Castiel's voice could be heard yelling from outside, and he began pounding on the front door.
Missouri, Dave, Sam and I exchanged a look before Sire let his brother in.
"I have news of Crowley," the Beta blurted out before he'd even fully entered the room.
Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that.
The only things we had to deal with now were John Winchester, Crowley, and a possible pack civil war.
Shit.
TBC...
Aw! Ain't Sammy cute when he's hungry? Makes you want to cook up everything in the cupboards, just to see that dimpled smile!
So Sam's all better, but is he likely to remain that way?
Hmm. We shall see...
Gimme some love, guys!
ST.