❤️ to all readers and especially reviewers, thank you so much. I hope everyone is well xx
As always much love and appreciation to Meilean for her help and support - All toys belong to the great Kripke - on we go.
Chapter 7: Shocks.
As the tires squealed to a stop in the motel carpark, Dean spotted Sam walking along the walkway that ran in front of the rooms and felt the tension drop from his shoulders. Sam was fine and they needed to finish the job. But why did he have to take off like that? Turning to look at his dad, John was already half out of the car.
"Where have you've been?" John demanded, advancing on Sam. Sam stopped in his tracks, looking surprised at his dad's angry face.
"The library," Sam's surprise quickly shifted to angry defence, "doing my job," he quoted. Dean darted towards the bristling pair. Apparently, his worry hadn't left upon seeing his brother, it had just migrated to their dad. Judging by Sam's defensive posture and antagonised glare, he'd only picked up on the anger their father was radiating.
John was breathing hard, trying not to react to the provocative aggression that had started to rear its head more and more in his youngest son. The nine-year-old had always been precocious, so he supposed he shouldn't be surprised by the displays of 'teen' attitude in the youngster. But damn if the kid didn't know how to press his buttons.
Dean hovered, just outside the glaring standoff.
It seemed to him Sammy had never forgiven their dad after the night he read the truth in the journal. It was almost like Sam blamed their dad for the fact the monsters existed. And their dad … Well if there was one thing John Winchester didn't tolerate, it was dissension in the ranks.
"What did you find?" Dean asked quickly, hoping to avoid an argument.
"It's a Rawhead, I think," Sam said looking at his brother, the relieved satisfaction at his discovery returning slightly.
"A what?" Dean glanced at their dad, whose face gave little away.
"Let's get inside." John's eyes swung over the surrounding area as he pulled the key from his pocket. "Talk me through it," he ordered once the door closed behind them. Sam gave him a cautious look, after having just been snapped at.
"Sammy?" Dean nudged, encouragingly. Sam grabbed the big book, which had been left open on the table, and held it out. Dean took it.
"Well, they stay hidden because they can't pass as human."
"Which explains the tunnels." John was looking across the scattered notes Sam had left spread by the book, Latin words with suggested translations, the odd mis-ordered sentence that gave an idea what the passage might be about, and a hastily scrawled 'gone to the library'.
Dean was looking at the open pages Sam had handed him. He couldn't read the text but a hand-drawn depiction covered half of one page. "This is one fugly bastard." He tilted the book for an alternative angle.
"They eat children." Sam addressed their dad.
Dean gagged and held the book away from him disgustedly.
"Anything on how to kill it?" John pressed.
"That's why I went to the library," Sam explained, eyeing his dad, partly worried and partly defiant. John returned his son's gaze. He understood why he'd gone. And that over the last months Sam had become used to coming and going on his own determination while his family was away. But if he was going to be coming with them now, the rules were going to be different. There was a subtle battle in the eye contact and Dean moved so he was between them to break it. Sam turned his attention to his brother. "That book only lists a whole bunch of stuff that won't kill them; bullets, knives, silver, all useless," he explained.
"Great," Dean said sarcastically, throwing it back on the table.
"But I found some stories at the library," Sam went on quickly, seeing his father's thunderous face. "Electricity," he started digging for something in his pocket.
"Electricity?" John perked up and moved forward.
"I think so." Sam unfolded the pieces of paper he'd pulled out and held them towards his dad.
John threw an unconvinced look at Sam but he took the pages and started reading.
"The accounts are sketchy and they don't confirm what it is," Sam mitigated. "But the patterns fit," he added quickly. John started reading and Dean looked to his brother for the information. Sam relaxed at his new audience and he rushed on more keenly. "So, get this. There's mention of a lightning bolt in an old folk story and an account in an old newspaper. Same sort of thing as now, kids being taken. The article says a kid got away. When they searched the place he escaped from, they found the dead body of a 'drifter'. He died of electrocution, he had pulled the wires from the wall. The kid insisted the drifter wasn't the 'thing' that took him but there were no further incidents after that and they closed the case."
John frowned. The 'drifter' could be a hunter. It wouldn't be the only time one got blamed for a problem they'd sorted, especially if they died in the process.
"So what?" Dean looked between his brother and father, "Offer it a bath and drop in a radio?"
John ignored the comment and shoved Dean aside so he could flatten the pages from Sam on the table. Some had been photocopied from a large book which hadn't fit on the copier very well. The writing was so unclear down one side it was almost impossible to read. He tutted: he'd have stolen the book, or at least torn out the useful pages. His eyes skimmed what Sam had found. "Dean, wasn't there a pawn shop on the next block?"
"Yeah, it will be closed by now but …" he was already putting on his coat. John put a restraining hand on his arm.
"You stay here and clean yourself up," he said firmly. Dean opened his mouth to argue. "Your police record is quite colourful enough for the time being," John added firmly but with a slight smirk.
"I won't get caught," Dean said resentfully, but he was already backing down. John looked between his two boys. A small hidden part of him was as giddy as Dean to have them all together but their safety came first.
"Neither of you are to leave this room until I get back, understand?"
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Yes Sir," Dean said reluctantly.
John didn't answer Sam but just left the room, locking the door behind him. Sam looked at Dean and noticed how filthy he was. "What happened to you?"
Dean looked down at himself and seemed to notice the gunge covering his clothes for the first time. "Oh, you know, saving people, hunting things," he said breezily, giving his brother a cocky grin. But his face fell again quickly as he turned towards the bathroom.
π π π
John sat at the table reconstructing the second of two Tasers he'd just modified, Dean watching every step avidly. Sam was sitting with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
"So you're leaving me here, again?" he griped.
"Not now Sam," John said wearily.
"But," Sam protested. Dean chanced a glance away from what his father was doing to look at his brother.
"I guess you missed the part where it eats kids?" he said sardonically.
Sam gave him a look. "Oh, but you're allowed to go?" he said bitterly.
"That's not the same thing and you know it Sammy." Dean turned back to watching his father's hands working on the Taser.
"Dean's not going either," John said, checking his work.
"What?" Dean's eyes darted up from the Taser to look at his father's face.
John didn't return the look. Instead, he kept his focus on his work. Though his son didn't say anything further, John could feel his questioning stare.
"That thing could come for your brother while we're gone," he said eventually. "We've been in its lair, we might have left a trail right back here." This wasn't why John wanted Dean to stay behind, but he knew it was the best way to get him to do so.
"I don't need a babysitter," Sam interjected. Though, if he was going to be stuck at the motel, he'd prefer it if Dean was stuck here too. Neither Dad nor Dean seemed to even hear him.
"Dean, the chances are, this freak knows we're hunting it, we already denied it one meal, that changes things." Dean looked nervously at Sam but the concern remained as he looked back at his dad.
"What if you need back-up?" he asked. Despite his absolute confidence in his father's abilities, he always felt better when he knew what was going on.
John gave Dean a sharp look. "Oh, so you're the big hunter now? I need your help?" Dean drew up as if he'd been slapped and swallowed hard.
"No Sir." The fight dropped out of him and his eyes fell unhappily to the table.
John looked at his son, regretting his words. "I know you want to help, Dean, but what I need is you boys safe," he said more softly. By the time Dean lifted his head, his father was darting his eyes at Sam.
After John left, Dean stared at the closed door with a worried frown. Sam, who had been sitting by the maps, stood and moved towards his brother.
"Do you really think Dad's in danger?" He asked. There was an eager edge to his voice that alerted Dean.
"Don't even think about it," he said without turning around.
"But …" Sam pressed. Dean turned on him.
"I've told you before, you can't just take off like that. Now look at what you've done." Sam, figuring Dean was only bothered because he was stuck here too, flared up in response.
"Yeah because you've never taken off, have you, Jerk?" Dean turned away but not before Sam saw the impact these words had made. It was far more of one than he had been expecting. Sam frowned, looking at his brother's back. Dean didn't move or speak but sensing weakness, Sam pressed his advantage. "C'mon Dean, please?" He used that tone that rarely failed when he wanted to convince his brother to do something. "Think about it. If we help him, Dad won't be mad and he'll see that we can …"
"No!" Dean said with finality. He turned back to face Sam, attempting to keep his expression closed-down. Not fooled, Sam could tell his brother was still wavering, so he persisted.
"Dean, please …" he wheedled using his best puppy eyes.
There was a moment of indecisive pain on Dean's face as he looked at his little brother's beseeching gaze. Then he hardened.
"Dad's given us an order and that's the end of it!" He turned irritably and started to dump dirty dishes in the sink.
π π π
John dropped into the tunnels, all his senses alert. Lately he'd found that most monsters blurred into each other. He felt nothing but revulsion for them all. But this sucker, this piece of filth, he was going to enjoy killing. Maybe it was that the victims were kids, or that one of them had reminded him painfully of little Sammy, or because he'd seen that determined look on Dean's face when he'd insisted on crawling into possible danger.
He reined himself in; it was dangerous to get emotional. He had a job to do and he was going to do it. Not one more family was going to be destroyed by this freak. He took a deep breath and focused. From what he'd read, these things had monster strength, claws, etc, and they were good at melting into the shadows.
He checked the Taser in his hand, he only had one shot with each, so he had to be sure it was a good one. He had his gun too and a machete handy, neither would kill the thing but they might slow it down enough to ensure a Taser could do its job. His eyes scanned the surroundings. The tunnels were damp but there was little standing water, the rubber soles on his boots should protect him.
From the info Sammy had found, this thing likely had a den somewhere, a nest where it kept its prey while it was feeding. He pulled the map of the tunnels from his pocket, checked the location marker on the wall, and orientated himself. He'd pre-identified three likely locations. Planning his route, John headed off, ears and eyes pricked.
He was approaching the second possible location when he heard the shuffling. He stowed his flashlight, not wanting to alert the thing to his presence and melted into the shadows, waiting. After a moment it lumbered by, oblivious to John though it passed within a few feet of him. He waited a moment then followed silently. It was unlikely but one or more of the kids that had disappeared earlier might still be alive. It was worth the risk of holding fire and following, just in case. The rawhead headed towards the place John had identified but before reaching it, turned and squeezed through a crack in the wall. Approaching cautiously, John inspected the gap. It looked like it might have opened up during a tremor or something. The creature could just about be heard shambling away within, so John slipped through to follow.
Keeping his steps as silent as possible on the damp uneven ground, John edged forwards carefully in the dark. He could no longer hear it, which made his senses tingle. His heart was pounding in his chest but he hardened himself against the fear. His eyes scanned the area. Although, even with time to adjust, there was so little light he couldn't see much. It was slightly lighter up ahead, suggesting an open space of some kind. John approached it cautiously. He couldn't hear anything except water dripping somewhere in the distance. With a deep breath, he moved into the open space.
There was no immediate sign of the monster but a small amount of light filtered in from somewhere. A pile of old blankets in one corner appeared to be a makeshift bed and John felt his stomach churn at the sight of what looked like a child's thighbone, gnawed and cast aside.
He sensed more than he saw the movement and spun, but too late. With a bone-jarring slam, he was thrown across the space, crashing into the opposite wall. His head was ringing and pain throbbed through his shoulder. As he scrambled back to his feet, the creature rushed him. He managed to dive aside just in time and rolled before springing back to his feet. Adrenalin pumped through his blood. He took a breath, controlling it, focusing on his target. The rawhead had slammed into the wall but turned to John again immediately.
He'd lost the first Taser in the initial attack. He pulled out the second and fired but missed. The rawhead grabbed a nearby crate, throwing it with surprising speed and accuracy. John managed to get his arm up as some protection before it crashed into his head, knocking him back and stunning him slightly. He felt the warm trickle of blood run down the side of his face. Another crate followed quickly and John dive-rolled away but the rough wooden box still broke across his back, thumping the air from his lungs. Sore and a little dazed, he popped up again, trying to shake his vision clear.
He faced his attacker, drawing his machete from its holder. Stepping smoothly aside from the creature's next charge, he carved a deep gash into its torso as it ran by. Snarling, it turned on him again. John spun the large blade and smiled at it.
"That all you got, freak?" he challenged. This time he ran at it, machete at the ready, sidestepping just as they would have collided but taking a chunk from its head as he did.
The creature howled and John spotted the Taser he'd dropped earlier. As the rawhead turned on him again, he ran and slid on his hip to the dark corner. Grabbing the prepped Taser, he turned on the thing, just as it cast aside another crate to get to him, and fired.
John kept the trigger depressed until the charge was kicked but it wasn't needed. The skin had already started to bubble and smoke. As he watched, the figure collapsed in on itself until little was left.
He let his head rest back against the damp and grimy wall for a moment and felt the tremors. They took his muscles from his control for a moment but he took it back. Slowing his breathing, he broke down his pain into identifiable, manageable pieces.
Eventually he got up and limped over to the puddle of gloopy ooze that still bubbled slightly.
He wiped blood from his cheek and focused. He needed to check the area for any sign of the missing children. There were miles of tunnels but if they were here, John suspected the rawhead had kept them close.
In a dark corner he noticed several large heavy crates had been stacked with purpose. Pain pulled at his shoulder and back as he pushed, but with difficulty he managed to move one aside. The smell that assaulted his nose told him everything he needed to know. He forced his way inside the enclosure anyway.
John collapsed to his knees and looked sadly at the remains. He'd tried to reassure his boys that there was a chance the children taken could still be saved but deep down he'd known. There was little more than bones from the first. And the second, the one that looked painfully like Sammy, was slumped in a pile of blood covered rags. He reached out and stroked the boy's familiar hair, tears filling his eyes.
He had to pull himself together. He looked around for something to cover the body with but his eyes were drawn back when he heard a noise. He looked closely at the battered face and broken body of the small child, barely daring to hope. There was another small flutter. He was alive.
A fresh wave of adrenalin flooded John's body. He started a gentle, but thorough, inspection of the boy, murmuring comfort as he did. Like many monsters, the rawhead liked its meat fresh, so though it had taken several bites, it had gone for fleshy parts; painful, terrifying, but not fatal. John checked the child's pulse. It was weak but still there. Tears leaked from his eyes.
He looked around. He had little in the way of first aid with him, but he had a few sterile gauze bandages in his IFAK. If there was even the smallest chance he could get this child home to his family, he had to try.
π π π
AN: IFAK - INDIVIDUAL FIRST AID KIT - The IFAK is issued to every Marine and Sailor.
So just one more chapter to go on this story, but I do have more in the works xx I hope you enjoyed the chapter, always great to hear from you either way ❤️