I've never had such an awesome amount of alerts as I've had with this story! Well, I hope you'll like this edition! Took me a while, but... yeah.. been busy -_-;;; BUT, I'm back and seriously inspired by some awesome reviews you all left me ;))
A delicious thank you to all my reviewers! The 2 new guests, Yaythe1st, LeighAnnWallace, Sesshomaru-gal, Rosetta Brunestud (w00t! I'm glad you liked those chappies! :D) and aweena! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope this one'll make up for my late update ;)
OOH! Please R&R! I hope to get the next chapter out faster!
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Sam's not a dumb...
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It's a little after ten when Sam suddenly jerks awake. He rolls over, checking his phone. Didn't the alarm go off? The silent flashing light of his phone begs to differ, it DID go off.. like, an hour ago. He runs a hand down his face and yawns. It's been a long time since he's felt this tired. Maybe because Dean's been acting so….
"Dean?" he calls before rolling over to face Dean.
"Hmmm-wha? I'm awake," Dean answers. Eyes still closed. Breathing still deep.
Wow… I guess we're both on autopilot… "Can't fool me," Sam retorts and chuckles to himself. Everything's back to normal.
Sam finally rolls out of bed, grabs his jeans and meanders towards the head, kicking Dean's bed along the way.
"I'm up, I'm up…" Dean yells back, snuggling deeper into the covers.
It takes Sam a good ten minutes to emerge from the bathroom, kinda hoping to find a semi-conscious fully geared-up Dean. No such luck. "Oh, come on, man! I even banged the doors shut so you'll wake up!" Sam scoffs, kicking the bed again, "So lazy…"
"Can't he-help it… " Dean mumbles, finally sitting up and rubbing his arms, "Shit! It's c-cold…"
"Hu?" Sam quirks an eyebrow as he checks the aircon. He didn't even notice it was turned on in the first place. He shuts if off and finally walks back, "Better?"
The older brother nods in that 'don't patronize me' way, but a win's still a win. The air circulation stops and it gets hot, quick. Sam's fanning his shirt, but Dean's finally mustering up his courage to do the unthinkable.
Dean's still shaking like a Chihuahua when he jumps out of bed. He's kinda proud of himself for the fact that he didn't need to get dressed, he even had his boots and jacket still on. Which doesn't exactly explain why he's still shivering.
"Ready to g-go?" Dean says, already waltzing out the door like he's been the one waiting for Sam.
The 'handsome' brother takes the wheel, brimming with confidence (once the Impala's heater is turned up full-blast) as they gun down the main road. "This wolf is going DOWN!" he grins and takes the first turn easily, "Just like the last six!"
The 'smart' brother, has the good graces to not remind Dean that the hairy skinwalker in Albuquerque doesn't count. He directs Dean to the park, not making too big a deal out of the fact that just six hours ago, Dean had cordoned a date with the lamppost there.
The Impala slows down once they take the last turn to Palmer Park. Dean shuts off the lights and pulls up alongside the curb.
"Okay, the best look-out is the big oak next to the monument," Sam says as he points on the map to the mark.
"What monument?" Dean says and tries to get a look out of the heater-induced fogged-up windshield.
"About twenty yards away from Lorelai the lamppost?" Sam says and clears his throat awkwardly when Dean just sends him a 'what the heck' look.
Sam opts for the Marling M-1895G rifle they 'borrowed' from the ranger office in Wharton State Forest in New Jersey, Dean gets the sawed-off Mossberg shotgun.
"Sure you don't wanna trade?" Sam says when he spots Dean almost dragging the shotgun on the ground when they're half-way to the look-out spot.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean says, already out of breath from their short walk.
Sam doesn't want to remind Dean that Marling is lighter than the Mossberg he's currently corpse-dragging. He keeps his lips shut and decides that rolling his eyes might be the safest outlet.
"I saw that," Dean growls and swings the Mossberg to rest on his shoulder.
"I'll take the lookout… " Sam snaps back and strides ahead, using his freakishly long legs to gain ground.
Dean just scoffs and decides to camou-in with the undergrowth in one of the ditches. He nestles into the soft ground and shuffles partly under the shrubbery. Well camouflaged, but a good quick-escape spot. He hisses under his breath when something sharp stabs him in the side, and adjusts his right leg so his hip won't have to be impaled by some jackass piece of rock or thorny-shit the entire night.
Sam lets sight catch the light of the lamppost on the Marling, letting the flash reflect momentarily to let Dean know he's ready.
And now… the wait.
And wait…
Keeping a good look-out on the park for potential.. well… monsters… Dean allows his mind to drift to his normal 'happy place' to keep his mind of the fact that he'll have to disinfect one side of his hip later tonight because whatever shrapnel he managed to shuffle across is now seriously starting to smart. Possibly more than the spike on a Wraith.
Well… Dean's divergence starts up easy… some lyrics of Metallica, some Doctor Sexy episodes running through his mind… oh, Claire -the nurse- really needs to straighten out her priorities… and her blouse… if she gets caught again….
A rustle in the grass brought Dean back to earth. He trains his sights on the place from where it came. If it's the wind, I'm definitely losing my touch. Another breeze lets the grass crackle again. Shit.
For another half an hour of wait, he shuffles every few minutes to try and get himself more comfortable. Only, all the shuffling is making him hot, which makes him want to take off his jacket. But, he figures it's still better than the shivering he had an hour ago.
The full moon was rising slowly over the hills in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the park. Which kinda sucks, 'cause it also lights up the park like it's midday, making it painfully clear to Dean what a crappy hide-out he chose.
A single short vibration from his pocket let Dean know that he received a message. Probably Sam. Probably Sam telling him what a shitty camou-position he took. He checks the message and loves the fact that watching The Mentalist was paying off. 'Move, I can see you from here'. … thanks Sasquatch, I didn't notice that myself…. Bitch…
And now the question is… how?
And, to where?
It's not like he can just Chacha over to the next hide-out and take his position. If that furry butcher is out in the park, he was looking for some lunch. And some hunter-meat would make for fine dining.
He gets up as slowly as he can once he spots a good look-out near Sam's spot. He leaves the Mossberg on the ground so he can use his arms for leverage. That stupid piece of glass/rock/thorn really took it out of him. He keeps his breathing even and tempered, trying to keep the foggy breaths from becoming too prominent –giving away his position.
It's once his boot hits the ground, that he's suddenly falling forwards and face-plants on the ground. And even before either of them really registered that Dean's down, the talons of the werewolf are sinking into the back of Dean's leather jacket.
Sam sweeps the sight of the rifle over to Dean's position, breathing in sharply when he sees the gleam of thick wet fur and Dean on the ground beneath the monster.
He doesn't know if Dean's screaming at him or the wolf, all he knows is that being at such a brilliant fucking vantage point is the shittiest place to be when your brother is in trouble. He doesn't really climb down, as much as drop from one set of branches to the next. On the last, his feet aren't catlike enough and he falls to the ground, landing hard on his back. The rough impact had him contracting, an unintentional discharge from his rifle shocking him into stillness.
Oh crap.
When he hears Dean suddenly start cursing, he knows what that stray shot hit. Sorry, dude. He scrambles to his feet, lifting the rifle back to its position, scanning the place where he'd seen them last. He spots Dean, but the moonlight ranger was gone.
"It's gone-" Dean rasps, rolling over to lie on his back. He's clutching his side his movements jerky and uncoordinated, "You didn't need to g-ah! give it a warn-NING s-shot…" he breathes painfully and grins once Sam's standing next to him, "Good shot-t though…"
"Shit, shit, shit…. Dean!" Sam crouches by Dean's side, his hands hovering over the wound, "I'm so sorry! … shit…"
"Language, Sam. If dad heard you right now…. HE'D … ugh… " Dean groans and his fingers start to shake in shock, "he'd wash-sh your mouth ouTHG with soap….".
Sam helps Dean to his feet, freaking out even more when he feels the heat radiating off of him –which is waaayyy too high to be from the gunshot.
Sam makes sure to keep a look-out for any other sounds in the park, just in case that damned thing came back. His mouth is dry and it feels like his throat is in a vice. He knows it's the adrenalin, but when Dean can't stand on his own, he knows the tightening in his chest isn't just because of the adrenalin. He knows it wasn't just because of the werewolf that Dean had been flattened to the ground... something was seriously wrong.
He manages to half-drag Dean to the Impala; he's trying to keep a firm grip on Dean, but also wanting to be gentle. Half the battle was also Dean's non-cooperation. Since, Dean didn't actually feel the piece of metal in his side. In fact, he was entirely numb on that side.
"The hell is wr-Oong with you, man?" Dean growls, trying to wrestle himself back to the Mossberg, "We still got a werewo-wolf to hunt!"
"It's gone, Dean!" Sam counters and notices how Dean's clutching his side… and not where Sam had accidentally shot him.
"It's just in hiding, it'll be back-AH!" Dean yelps when his foot catches on the curb.
It's not difficult to cram Dean into the Impala, since Dean's shaking so damned much that he can't even get his muscles to cooperate enough to fight back… it is difficult though, is sitting in the driver's seat, trying to shut the door on the six-foot werewolf that just popped-in to bid them adieu.
Pulling on the handle, Sam's trying to keep the door as a barrier between them and three-inch claws. And teeth. Shit. It's never this fucking scary in a book. The saliva dripping off its teeth, the stench of its foul breath entering through the ever-growing gap between the door and the Impala. Sam, kicking against the interior of the Impala, trying to use it as a leverage. But, this thing is stronger than the last five bloody werewolves they hunted…
It snaps its jaws at the window. The thing's foggy breaths, saliva and teeth-marks stick to the window, drawing an unwilling preview of what's to come. Sam knows he's going to cave soon, he's arms are shaking so much… but then? Sam knows Dean's out for the count. That he HAS to be responsible this time. For both of them. That HE has to be the big brother now and protect Dean for once.
Okay, I let go… it'll fall backwards with the momentum… maybe I can reach the gun in time… it's in the back… dammit! Did I leave it on the seat or the floor…?
But, the wolf wasn't waiting for an answer, with an almighty pull, it managed to wrench the door entirely out of Sam's grasp and swing it fully open. It smiled. It fucking smiles as it opens its jaws ready to strike. Dean…
"Nobody screws with my brother!"
The wolf's lying –stunned- on the floor with a face full of lead and Sam was pulled out of the way… he was now lying between the driver and passenger seat, staring up at the smoking Taurus. The same Taurus Sam had shoved under his seat earlier on when Dean was threatening that bass-jockey -the same Taurus that Dean was now holding in his trembling grip.
Sam quickly uses his position to his advantage as he grabs the rifle from the floor, manoeuvres it through the space between the seats and plants four silver rounds into the wretched werewolf's head and heart. Better safe than sorry… and a werewolf.
He stashes the rifle in the back again. "Thanks, man!" Sam's all grins when he turns back, only to be greeted by Dean sticking his head out of his own door and emptying his stomach on the tarmac.
Dean's still hunched over even once he stopped yelling at the carpet, but he doesn't look better. Actually, he looks worse. He's definitely running a fever, by the looks of the sweat now pouring down his face. The wound in his side was bleeding freely now, but Dean's still clutching his lower right-side again. "Um… Sa… SaHM…" Dean clears his throat and lowers himself deeper into the seat, "Can you- ARGH! ...ugh.. … take me… to …" he looks over to Sam, trying to say it without using words. 'cause hospitals aren't part of the Winchester way.
And, Sam understands that. And Sam knows when to get serious. Because Sam isn't a dumbass. And Sam knows that Dean's not a sissy.
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