Hunter of the Shadows
Title taken from a line in Metallica's 'The Thing That Should Not Be'
Chapter 2
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The motel room appears empty, until the eye catches sight of a solitary form asleep on the far bed, dark brown shaggy hair spread out across the pillow.
The bathroom door is wide open and a tall figure can just be seen inside standing over the throne, whistling softly, stance casual like he hasn't a care in the world. A sound much like that of a stream bubbling over into a lake goes on for some time before dying off into a drip, drip, drip. There's the noise of a zipper being zipped, hands being washed and a "Good God I'm a handsome bastard" uttered softly with pride before the figure emerges from the bathroom, then struts his way across the bedroom to the camera, disappearing out of shot for a few seconds as he negotiates his way round various duffle bags and weapons.
There's a loud thud and "sonofabitch!" Dean appears, rubbing his left big toe and hissing in pain.
He grimaces and mutters quietly "stubbed my damn toe on the..."
Dean blinks slowly as though something's just occurred to him and he appears to be staring hard at something on top of the shot.
"Huh. Forgot to turn the camera off." He grins sheepishly. "I'm sure that's a little more of me than you actually wanted to see..."
But having his ablutions caught on camera doesn't seem to really bother him all that much.
"And they say it's the personality that counts," Dean quips, still grinning. "Guess you guys got more than you bargained for. Now, where were we? Oh yeah..."
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Back in the past...
Someone was leaning over me seconds later, and red light flooded my eyes as Sam clicked on his filtered flashlight. His worried face appeared bathed in the eerie glow.
"Dean! You ok man? Say something..."
I winced and flapped a hand at him. "Turn that thing away! Ya tryin' to blind me?" At least that's what I tried to say but judging by the increasing anxiety on Sam's face that ain't what came out.
"Dean?" Rustling and movement. Something soft was pressed to my shoulder and I cried out in pain. "Sorry bro. Gotta stop the bleeding." The little shit pressed down even harder. This time I managed to stifle it down to a groan but my shoulder was excruciating, vaguely realising Sam was wrapping something round my upper torso and shoulder, securing my injured arm across my stomach.
Looking down, I recognised one of Sam's many layered shirts and started struggling again.
What the hell was he thinking?
"Dammit Sam!" I managed to force out, voice hoarse and weak. "You'll freeze to death out here!"
"I'll be fine Dean, got two more shirts on underneath." The fake grin evident in his soft and shaky voice did little to comfort me. The kid was scared shitless. "Can you stand? Gotta get you back to the cabin and check the damage. You're gonna need some serious stitch work on that." He spoiled the whole 'I'm unconcerned; it's just a flesh wound' routine with an audible gulp and sniffle. Poor kid was trying so damn hard but he already had a fair idea just how bad it was.
"Where's Dad?" I rasped out after a few minutes of silent stumbling in my brother's grip. Sam was taking most of my weight quite well though it can't have been easy. I still had a couple inches on him, even if he had filled out a little in the last few months. Still, he was strong, stubborn and I knew he wouldn't give up on me.
My mind must've been doing some serious wandering, because a considerable amount of time had passed since I asked about our Dad, and Sam still hadn't answered me.
"Sam?" Judging by the way Sam's arms tensed around me, I'd have to say he was pissed about something.
"He's gone to secure the area," was bitten out in a short clipped tone, which meant Dad had gone after the wolf on his own. Though at a guess I'd have to say Sam's translation would've been he's abandoned us for the hunt. Again.
We both carried on in a loaded silence, trudging slowly through the forest, still on the alert for trouble. Somewhere along the way Sam had retrieved my fallen weapon and I held it under my bad arm. Given my injuries I wouldn't have been much use if the wolf came back for seconds, but the weight of the stock against my body made me feel a little better.
We were slowing down and I soon figured out it was because of me. I could barely hear Sam's words of encouragement above the roaring and pounding in my ears. I was trying to pin point when exactly my vision had developed a black border, slowly thickening until all I could see was a tunnel of red from Sam's flashlight, gradually reducing to a pin prick.
Dean...Just a little further dude I promise....stay with me...
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An incessant clinking like metal on glass then...
"Drink some of this; it'll help you get your strength back," a familiar, soft anxious voice announced by my ear. Something warm and smooth was placed against my lips and a cool hand slid beneath my neck, gently raising my head.
"You lost a lot of blood," came that voice again. "But I think you're gonna be ok."
Had to get my head together.
"Sammy," I croaked out, "You alright kiddo?" My throat felt like someone had used an electric sander on it.
Sam made a sound like a snort of disbelief. "I'm fine Dean, now drink!"
Bossy little shit I wanted to say, but did as I was told. It was some kind of protein drink; I'd had it before after an injury resulting in heavy blood loss. It was an old recipe Dad got from Pastor Jim, and it had saved it us several trips to the ER over the years.
There was something wrong. Sam was staring at me strangely and shifting nervously in his seat, and a quick glace round the cabin revealed that Dad was still AWOL.
"He's taken the car and gone into town," demonstrating Sam's creepy mind reading skills. Pity I couldn't read my brother so well. "He's gone to the medical clinic in the nearest town, gonna bring back a doctor to help you." He shook his head. "In the meantime I gotta figure out what attacked you before he gets back."
I glared at him; was he trying to be funny?
"It was a wolf Sam. A damn great wolf! You were there! You both were!"
I fully expected a smart-ass reply but Sam just stared down at his feet.
"Sam? How long was I out?" A worrisome feeling took hold of my gut and heavy suspicion kicked in. If I was healing why would Dad go for a doctor? And why was Sam not answering me?
I sat up suddenly. "Dad left for town before I started healing, right?" But Sam still refused to look at me and I reached forward, grabbing his arms and giving him a hard shake. "How long was I out? How long since the attack Sam?"
He finally looked me in the eye before answering. "Two hours," he whispered, eyes filling with tears. "When Dad left...he thought you were dying."
My breathing picked up, my chest tightened, my grip on Sam's arms was hard enough to leave bruises and still I didn't let go.
"Huh? No way!" Looking down at the bandages on my injured shoulder, one hand released Sam and started pulling them back one by one. Strip by strip of blood stained bandage came away and instead of an ugly red wound sealed by stitches, there was a ten inch jagged scar already beginning to fade.
Sam sniffed. "I pulled the stitches out 'bout an hour ago, but after you nearly bled to death we ran out of clean gauze and dressing." He offered quietly, "Had to re-bind it using the same bandage. Sorry."
I just blinked in amazement. My body wasn't healing from a life threatening injury.
It was healed.
"Dad doesn't know?"
Sam shook his head. "We could just keep it covered and hope he doesn't check for himself." He shrugged forlornly.
That wasn't going to work and we both knew it.
I noticed Sam's laptop was open, booted up and humming away quietly to itself. When I turned to speak, Sam was staring at me, in part wonder and part fear.
"Dean, you better take a look in the mirror," my brother's voice shook lightly and I was on my feet in an instant, the movement strangely fluid and...graceful? I felt lighter than air yet there was a weird strength behind the scenes, waiting to be tapped. What the hell's happened to me?
As I approached the mirror with Sam right behind me, my steps slowed, scared of what I'd see. And that was something else; my sight was sharp, everything in crystal clear focus. And I could hear everything, from my brother's pounding heartbeat to a cockroach scratching its ass in the nearby wardrobe. I could smell...fresh lavender? Yet the closest wild lavender was two or three hundred yards away out on the dirt track. I knew that because Sam often made his own lavender oil to burn at night. Apparently the stuff's good for the memory and Sam felt a boost to his already scary-huge brain could only be a good thing.
But that wasn't the only scent. Sam was more than nervous. He was scared and confused, the smell of his sweat so strong I could almost taste the salt, mixed with the essential Sammy smell, one I would always associate with a tiny squalling bundle and baby powder.
I finally found the courage to raise my eyes to the mirror, then stumbled back in shock.
My skin was the usual colour, a light tan with a scattering of freckles, but my eyes...
They were still green but there was a strange glow when the light caught them at a certain angle, and the irises were ringed by a dense black making them seem more pronounced, better defined. I turned my head this way and that, still staring into my own eyes.
"Sammy?"
"Dean..."
"This is so.... cool!"
"Dean..."
"I mean, the chicks are gonna love this." I was desperately trying to avoid my little brother's pending discussion but the little shit was persistent.
"Dean!"
I hung my head and slowly turned to face him. "Alright Sammy, what you found out?" I gestured to the open laptop, then got a good look at him. The kid was a picture of misery as he reached out and turned the screen around.
"Remember I told you about the possibility that more than one species of werewolf exists?" I nodded and glanced at the screen whilst Sam continued. "Took some digging but it turns out that mythology professor sure knows his stuff...."
But I was barely listening, my mind reeling in shock, which was kinda stupid.
Superfast healing? Glowing eyes? Super hearing? Nose like a horny hound during the mating season?
What the hell did I think I'd been bitten by? Superman?
Sam's soft murmur dragged me back from whatever panic front was taking up space in my confused brain.
"...there is a common misconception amongst today's scholars that all werewolves are lunar dependent and rely on the full moon in order to change." Sam's eyes followed the text as he quoted. "Since the late seventeen hundreds Eastern European culture has maintained there are at least three varieties of lunar-dependent and four known varieties of non-lunar werewolf..."
He scrolled down to reveal an eye-witness sketch from over a hundred years ago of a large wolf, long-haired, pointed ears, eyes glowing in the light of a flaming torch. It could have been the biggest German shepherd ever except for the lengthened fangs. He was magnificent, a thing of wild beauty. It was only a drawing and couldn't be considered as evidence of a sighting... if not for the fact it might have been the same damn wolf that bit me earlier that night!
In fact the more I stared at the sketch the more certain I became.
"It can't be... holy shit Sam! It's the same one!" I exclaimed loudly, feeling my knees almost giving way with the shock.
Sam's answer was to nod and scroll down even further to a section marked
The Non-Lunar Werewolf:
If Sam's heart was to pound any harder he was gonna have a cardiac arrest. Barely thinking about it, I pushed him down into the chair in front of the computer and stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck in a gesture of comfort.
"Dean this is bad..." Poor kid was shaking and I sensed his fear all the more.
I read the section aloud.
'...share many traits with its Lunar-dependent cousins: impervious to injury except by silver or decapitation. Potentially immortal, though never proven.
The non-lunar werewolf, as the name suggests, does not require full moon to change form, but is able to change at will, though change can be initiated by serious injury from silver either in blade or missile forms.
Silver bullets can kill or maim a werewolf if not removed quickly, by paralysis, or gradually finding its way to the heart. However, once removed werewolves have the ability to rejuvenate and heal fast, lending plausibility to the theory of immortality.
Complete with enhanced hearing and sense of smell, it is a mistaken belief in many circles that werewolves only see in black and white. There is little clinical evidence to support this assumption. The Non-Lunar Werewolf has exceptional eyesight, and can see many colours enhanced by an extra set of 'filters' and 'lenses' often observed as a ring of black around the iris and a deep luminous green or sometimes blue sheen to the pupil. Like the lunar dependents, their strength is shocking to behold; the jaw alone can exert some one hundred times the pounds per square inch of pressure of the average wolf. Evidence to the contrary is misleading with little or no..."
I snorted loudly. Like this guy had solid evidence to support anything on his website.
Except... I was evidence, right? Standing right here, in this room. I should have died, all that blood and pain...
"Dean...DEAN! You're hurting me!" Sam flinched and squirmed in my grip and his wavering voice finally broke through. I glanced down at my hands in shock.
My knuckles were white and tense, fingers clenched, nails sunk into Sam's shoulder and neck. Sam gave up struggling and slumped in his seat, tears falling silently.
"Sammy I'm so sorry kiddo, I didn't mean to hurt you," I dropped to my knees beside him and cupped his jaw, turning his head to face me. The kid was white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf. "Sam..."
Finally his eyes locked with mine, and my heart broke right then.
"Dean, you have to go." Sorrowful eyes gazed at me. "You know what Dad will do if he finds out what... what you've become."
I stared at him in shock. "What? NO! Sammy he'll be fine, he'll understand..."
He shook his head slowly. "He won't, you know that. Please, you have to go. I don't want to watch him kill you..." Sam reached out to me, grasping both my hands in his. "I'd rather kill myself." He whispered, leaving the terrible silence of consideration.
I didn't want to believe it, but Sam was right. It wouldn't matter that I was his son, I'd become a monster, a vicious bloodthirsty killer without a conscience. A small part of me hoped Dad would just nod, squeeze my shoulder comfortingly and say it's all right, we'll figure something out. But no. He'd take one look, maybe tell me he was sorry, then give me both barrels. Silver to the heart. It would be an instant death but I still didn't want my kid brother to see that.
I'd rather die than hurt an innocent but Sam didn't need to know about it, if or when it happened. First I would hunt that wolf, and take him down with me. No one else was gonna suffer like this at his hands...paws. Whatever.
If the prospect hadn't been so dangerous, I'd have taken Sam with me, but only because somehow I didn't really trust Dad to keep him safe. It was a strange feeling that was only just beginning to form.
I nodded, rose and grabbed my duffel, stuffing it with my clothes. Sam was watching me and I turned to meet his gaze. I don't think I'd ever seen him so sad and lonely.
"It'll be ok Sam. I promise." But he wasn't stupid.
"No it won't." Sam sniffed and swiped at his tears. "I'm never gonna see you again."
I couldn't lie to the kid. He deserved better.
"Probably not." I answered softly, unable to keep on looking him in the eye. At the risk of crumbling, I just grabbed him up in a long tight hug. "Stay safe Sammy. Look after Dad for me."
And I left without once looking back. Some months down the line I wished like hell I'd paid closer attention to my instincts.
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Author's notes:
I've always fancied writing a story like this. I think the idea of Dean as a werewolf (the Kelly Armstrong variety) is just fantastic; it suits him to a Tee.
Many thanks for Darksupernatural who encouraged me to write this nearly a year ago. Sorry it's taken me so long to get the plot sorted. Hope you enjoy it hon!
Kind regards,
ST xxx