Chapter 13

The next couple of days were maddening. For Sam anyway. Dean didn't say much to him, but every few seconds he would look over at his brother to make sure he was alright. It was making Sam uneasy when he thought about having eyes on him every second of the day.

The day before, Sam had gotten dressed and was about to go outside for a walk. He had said that it was a bit stuffy in the house, and muttered something about Dean making him claustrophobic with his constant hovering. Dean of course played dumb, and said it wasn't safe for him to be walking around outside.

As much as Sam hated to admit it, he knew Dean was right about that. So he stormed off into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Just to get away from the stalking eyes if only for a moment.

Bobby had gone about his business as usual, as if nothing was different. He would talk to some of his friends on the phone, trying to pry information out of them without being too straightforward. He would call it insurance. Covering their tracks sort of, because if the demons knew about Sam, then surely some hunters out there must have known.

Bobby would ask if so-and-so knew about the rise in werewolf activity, and if so-and-so knew why. Bobby had talked to at least thirty people, and no one seemed to have known. That was a relief.

Now, it was mid-afternoon and the three of them were standing in Bobby's kitchen. Sam sat at the small wooden table with a slab of raw steak on a plate, and a small pile of paper in front of him. On the papers were information he'd gathered on the demons location within the last two days.

Sam sighed aloud as he lifted one of the printouts to his face and read to a waiting Dean and Bobby.

"Dan and Shirley Fitzpatrick were found in their home yesterday with their throats slit. No weapon was found, and there were no signs of forced entry."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the counter to face his brother. "We're thinkin' demon?"

Sam chuckled humorlessly, and looked at Dean. "I'd say so." He passes the paper in his hand to Bobby, who snatched it quickly, and skimmed through it.

"Cops found piles of sulfur by the front and back door. They're thinkin' it's a sign from some crazy serial-killer-wannabe because it matches the last two deaths in town exactly." Sam explained with a half smile.

"Okay, so demon." Dean clarified, now looking at Bobby who was still skimming through the article. "What's our next move?"

"I say we lay low." Bobby said softly. Dean and Sam's heads' both snapped in his direction. "You can't be serious!" Dean exclaimed angrily.

Bobby looked up from the paper at Dean's face and nodded, "I am."

"Why? These bastards are killing innocent people!" Dean said impatiently.

Bobby placed the paper on the counter and looked Dean square in the eye. "I know that. I do. But don't you get it?"

Dean looked at Sam who was looking at Bobby with an understanding expression. Dean looked back at Bobby and shrugged. He wasn't getting it. "No, get what?"

Bobby sighed, and rubbed his beard impatiently. "Pull your head outta your ass! They're after Sam; they're trying to draw us out."

"Draw us out?" Dean questioned in disbelief.

"You heard that demon! This Azezel character's got some big-time demons lookin' for him. They probably already know he's here, but I made sure they aint gettin' in. They want him to come to them."

"So why don't you and I go and stop them!" Dean tried to reason desperately.

"They know his weakness too probably! You don't think they'll capture and kill you in a heartbeat? You're expendable to them." Bobby said furiously.

"So we sit here?" Dean asked in almost a scream. It wasn't too loud, but with strengthened hearing, it was enough to make Sam wince. Dean caught that immediately and took a deep breath. "We just sit here, and watch as someone else dies?" He asked shakily as he tried to control the volume of his voice.

Bobby said nothing. There was nothing anybody could say that would make that okay. So he stormed angrily out the backdoor and into the salvage yard.

Dean sighed, and turned his attention to his brother who was looking at his feet with a guilty expression on his face. He knew that Sam was blaming himself for all this.

"This isn't your fault." Dean said calmly to Sam.

Sam looked up at him and shook his head, "Don't Dean. Just stop."

Sam then turned his attention back to his plate in front of him, the smell of the bleeding meat had been taunting him for a while, but he was testing his control. It pleased him how much he had pushed his self control the past two days.

Sam slowly lifted the stake off the plate, still testing himself. As he bit into it, he nearly lost himself as the blood and juices filled his mouth. Sam shook his head, to clear the sudden fog in his mind. He chewed silently and then put the meat back on the plate. He looked up at his brother who of course was looking back at him with concern.

Sam nodded at him silently to assure his brother that he was okay. Of course his self control still needed some more pushing.

Suddenly, another smell assaulted his nose. He had only smelled it a few times before, but it was unmistakable. It also confused him greatly. His head snapped up in Dean's direction, "How many werewolves did you kill the other night?" Sam asked urgently.

"What's that got to do with -" Dean started to ask, but was cut off by Sam as he was quickly out of his chair and in his face with a speed that was almost too quick. "How many!?" Sam demanded in a low impatient voice.

"Including the naked one you were…playing with, five. Why?" Dean said jokingly.

A low threatening growl escaped Sam's throat, and he made his way out the backdoor with Dean at his heel. "Why? What's wrong?" Dean demanded, at the back of Sam's head as he slammed the door behind him.

Dean was taken aback when Sam whirled around to face him. His face was etched with such fury, such rage that Dean at that moment feared his brother.

"There were six!" Sam growled out as his normal hazel eyes grew, and turned icy blue with the black outline and vertical slits.

Sam turned forward and kept walking into the far reaches of the salvage yard following a scent that only he seemed to smell.

Dean was unnerved at how much his brother looked more like a wild animal than a human geek-boy. Dean had no choice but to follow him with no useful weapon on him. He only had his pistol which carried regular bullets. That wouldn't kill a werewolf, but it'd slow it down. He pulled it out of his waistband, and clicked the safety off and held it in front of him defensively.

Sam continued to follow the scent frantically. He would lift his head and sniffed the air, and then walk a few paces before doing the same thing, or sniffing a car that the beast had rubbed itself against.

Just then, another scent came to his nose, a sweeter, more delicious smell. He lifted his head and sniffed the air rapidly inhaling the scent. Then it registered in his mind, and his eyes widened with anger.

He turned to face Dean and roared and howled. He grunted when he realized he couldn't talk. He must have changed during his fit of rage without noticing.

He jerked his head, and then roared again. He then broke out into a run, he didn't have time to wait for his brother.

Dean watched in horror as his brother turned faced him and roared, sounding eerily like a feral animal. Sam's canines had even grown and sharpened into fangs which only added to his animal look.

Dean called for his brother as he suddenly burst into a full run.

Sam heard Dean calling for him, but he couldn't stop. He had to follow the smell of the werewolf that had intruded on his grounds, and the other smell. The sweeter more captivating smell.

The smell of Bobby's blood.