Hunter of the Shadows
Title taken from a line in Metallica's 'The Thing That Should Not Be'
Chapter 6
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As a special treat, please go and check out Darksupernatural's homepage for the very lovely DancerInTheDark101's wonderful fanart for this story.
You won't regret it!
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There's a flicker of white then Dean's face appears up close and personal with the camera lens, a slice of pepperoni pizza gripped between his teeth, lips spread wide so as not to touch the hot dough. It's not a pleasant sight, catching a full view right up Dean Winchester's nostrils.
"Damn stupid thing... why can't they invent an autofocus that actually fucking works!" he's muttering, voice muffled by the pizza. Just as he gives the camera a swift whack! a large globule of hot grease drips onto his hand. Dean begins swearing up a storm, dancing angrily round the room and blowing desperately on his scalded hand.
A low, tired chuckle sounds from the far bed.
"That's what happens when you get violent with technology, dude," Sam breathes out just as Dean disappears from the room. "It was working fine last night."
There comes the sound of running water from the bathroom and Dean can be heard sighing in relief before re-emerging, wiping his hands on a towel.
"I hardly touched the damn thing!" Dean grouses good naturedly, peers closely at the camera again, unfortunately once again adopting the dreaded nostril shot.
"Hey!" He taps the outer casing with pride. "It's working! Told ya, Sammy! Standard Operating Procedure; if nothing else solves it? Give it a thump."
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In the past...
I watched over Sam for the rest of the night but he showed no sign of coming round. Long after the meds were out of his system the poor kid slept on. Christ knows what else John might have done to him during the sixth months I was gone, and somehow I didn't think Sam would tell me everything.
He looked different already, even in deep sleep. Muscles, though thin and malnourished, were gaining bulk right before my eyes. His jaw and cheekbones rigid, firm, set, well defined.
At nineteen I hadn't quite reached my prime; non-lunars, depending on turning age, don't generally reach their prime until the quarter century. So I had six years to go. Sammy on the other hand was only just fifteen but I could already see signs of the magnificent wolf he'd become.
But we had a long, hard road ahead of us. Sam's induction into the family came at a heavy personal price for the kid, and, for a while there, I thought we were gonna lose him.
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The following night Sam still hadn't surfaced. Tobius and I sat up late talking, quietly discussing Sam's future. I still wanted Sammy to go to college and, to my surprise, Sire was in full agreement. We both wanted our boy to be happy; trouble was, we didn't know how the kid was gonna feel.
Tobius advised caution, to tread carefully until Sam settled in and accepted who and what he was. He had a point.
But something was worrying me about all this.
Tobius was staring into the log fire, unlit cigar caught between thumb and index finger. He looked as distracted and worried as I felt...
"Spit it out Dean."
I bit back a sigh. "You don't think... uh... John... ya know... with Sam?"
Tobius turned to look at me, one dark eyebrow raised. He studied me for a moment, eyes glowing in the firelight.
"What difference would it make now? Sam's with us, he's safe. Don't dwell on it."
That wasn't an answer.
"But Sam might. He's been through so damn much..." I didn't know what the hell I meant but Tobius seemed to.
He leaned forward, settling elbows on knees with a heavy sigh.
"For the record, no. I don't think John sexually abused him. He wasn't the type." Tobius rolled his shoulders, eliciting a light crack and he groaned in contentment. "If you're not convinced then ask yourself something: did you smell him on Sam? I mean, smell him... like that?"
I considered that with some relief.
"No... no I guess not."
Tobius nodded.
"Exactly. And John didn't smell of Sam. Case closed." Another swift glance my way. "Now come on. What's really troubling you?"
Huffing and shifting in my seat, I actually thought about that before answering. Not the first time but yeah, still unusual for me.
"Knowing what I now know... how I feel... I just don't get it... I mean, how could he?" It seemed that thinking things through hadn't made me any more intelligible. I tried again. "Sam was his son! How could he do that? He thought I was dead, so why do that to the only family he had left?" Tears threatened when I thought of the state Sam was in, seeing him for the first time in six months. "In spite of everything, I never doubted his love for Sammy, but now? What the hell? When did John's ass go evil? And how didn't I notice?"
I wasn't even aware that I'd got up, pacing the living room angrily, until Tobius stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Dean, listen to me." Tobius, keeping a firm grip on me, pushed down until I was sitting back on the couch. "John wasn't evil, but I do believe he was very sick. You told me how he lost his wife Mary, your mother. How he joined the hunt because of it."
Yeah. I had told him all about that, and, already I could see where he was coming from. Mom dying on the ceiling of Sam's nursery, the house going up in flames... we all lost something that night. Sam was only sixth months old but somehow his loss was greater than mine. He didn't even have the precious memories of our Mom. He grew up with an obsessive father and an over-protective big brother.
And now he didn't even have that. I'd taken away what little he had left. John was dead and he no longer had a brother.
I had no idea how we were getting through this.
So sorry Sammy. Sorry I failed you.
I heard Tobius sigh.
"Everyone reaches their point of no return. John found his when he thought he'd lost you. I'm convinced that once he'd killed Sam, he would have taken his own life. Don't try to understand, that's a dark path." That firm, reassuring grip on my shoulder again. "You haven't failed anyone, least of all Sam. You saved him, Dean, and he'll need time to adjust so... just give him that time." He stood up and yawned widely. "For the record, you've given that kid much more than you realise. He has a grandfather who loves him, and who could ask for a better dad than you?"
That completely bowled me over but he didn't give me much chance to reply.
"I'm off to bed. Not as young as I used to be," he joked and I rolled my eyes in amusement. "Goodnight son."
"'Night."
I stayed up in case Sam needed me and reflected on how things had changed in the last sixth months, how I had changed. And not just in the small matter of becoming a werewolf.
Tobius had changed me in his own way. I shamelessly used words like eloquent and hence. In fact, these days I often sounded like I'd swallowed a damn dictionary. I knew which cutlery to use at the dinner table (start from the outside and work ya way in, just as in silver service – titanium for us though, not silver of course), which brandy's were palatable (see what I mean?), and, shockingly, I could also stay awake through operas.
Alternatively, Tobius was coming to appreciate the finer qualities of mullet rock and had even consented to Motorhead, Black Sabbath and Zeppelin from time to time whenever we hit the road, though he drew a well-defined line at The Scorpions. In his opinion, good music should not require some idiot to start whistling, and the fact the track was entitled 'Winds Of Change' was no excuse. Hafta admit, I do see his point.
During these mindful ramblings, the fire had died down a little and the room was starting to feel a little chilly. As I approached the log basket, a tingling in my spine told me something...
I could feel him, standing in the doorway, and I turned to find an exhausted Sam leaning heavily against the frame, blinking at me in confusion.
"Sammy, what the hell you doing out of bed..." I was already making my way across the room when he swayed and I took a virtual standing leap over the couch. "....whoa...easy there kiddo" Just about lunged to catch him as his legs gave out.
He was shaking, badly.
"Dean, I..." Sam whimpered, tucking his head under my chin and burying his face in my shirt, something the kid hadn't done since he was eight.
"Shhh, just relax, Sam." As soon as he quieted, I carried him into the dining room and sat him down. Crouched to his level and brushing hair out of his face, I eyed him carefully, trying not to scare him. "Are you hungry, Sammy?"
Sam gazed at me, sad eyes welling up. "I-I don't kn-know w-what I n-need..." he whispered softly.
But it was coming off him in waves; sheer unadulterated hunger. Poor kid was starving and his healing body was sending messages that Sam was desperately trying to understand.
"Stay here and don't move." Pushing him back against the seat and getting to my feet, a cold shaft of apprehension hit me.
What would Sam make of this? It was really the first time I'd properly wondered about it and I was scared. Still, the youngster needed food. Not much else to do.
The suite of rooms had its own decent sized kitchen, all cupboards fully stocked to bulging with food and other essentials. But Tobius had been out shopping for our more specific needs, as I soon found out on opening the cooler.
Prime fillet beef and venison steaks, rump, sirloin, mince and ribs, pork chops, lambs hearts were stacked three or four high on each shelf, along with several litre cartons of full fat creamy milk.
My mouth was watering.
Pulling out a large pack of meat and throwing it on the counter, I realised Sam had followed me into the kitchen. He stood trembling, eyes glowing, staring at the meat, and I could once again feel his hunger and longing.
Hungry...
He was already falling back on his newly acquired instincts, stalking the raw meat as though it were a live animal.
"Sammy?" I called softly, but he didn't look up, just narrowed his eyes, the brilliant blue-green irises shining beautifully. "If you see what you need, take it kiddo. And you need to eat so don't hold back."
I wasn't prepared for his reaction.
Sam fell on the packet of meat, attacking the plastic wrapping, small desperate whimpers and puppy-like growls of frustration until, finally, his teeth sunk into the juicy steak. With an astonishing amount of strength, ripping, tearing, shredding, chewing, swallowing, the entire fourteen- ounce steak was gone in under a minute.
The kid sure learned fast and listened to his instincts.
That's my boy...
He stood in front of me shivering, shaking, an expression of utter shock and disbelief on his young face. But there was still the hunger.
Wordlessly, I turned back to the cooler and removed a few more steaks and a carton of milk. Sliding them onto the counter, I paused to glance up. Sam was watching closely as if uncertain the food was for him, his eyes swivelling frantically between the steaks and milk.
"Go ahead Sam," I whispered. "Eat up."
He attacked the next steak with just as much gusto but I was still reaching for a glass when he ripped open the carton and started gulping milk thirstily, some of it spilling down his chin and soaking his T-shirt.
Slamming the empty carton back down, breathing fast and furious, Sam's eyes widened as they met mine and I stared back offering quiet reassurance. But the kid just gaped at me as the silence descended, thick and tense, and a nasty feeling came over me. I realised he knew.
Sam knew what he'd become.
He started frantically shaking his head in denial.
"Nononono..." Revulsion, self-disgust, anguish, all flitted across his tortured face.
"Sammy it's ok," I tried to grasp his arms, hoping physical contact would ground him but he stepped back out of reach.
"No!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as panic set in and Sam started gagging and retching. Dashing for the sink he emptied his stomach of raw beef and milk while I crept over and tried rubbing his back in comfort, but he practically snarled at me.
Another bout of puking and he slumped back against one of the kitchen storage units, sliding to the floor exhausted.
"What have you done to me?" He whispered fearfully, "How could you?"
"Sam..." Reaching out to him again was a big mistake.
"Stay away from me! Don't touch me!" Sam leapt to his feet and ran for the door.
"Sammy wait, get back here!"
Tobius appeared from nowhere, looming over the frightened boy and grabbed Sam up in a tight hold, the kid's back to his chest with one arm round his waist the other round his neck. Sam soon recovered from the shock and started struggling, kicking and biting. His grandfather didn't seem in the least bit put out, just rolled his eyes and smiled tightly.
"Calm down young pup. Nothing is as it seems, but you need to give us the chance to explain..."
"Let me go!" Sam's struggles grew ever more panicked, and Tobius sighed as he jammed two fingers into the pressure point by Sam's ear. The kid didn't even get a chance to flinch away before his struggle began to weaken.
"Don't hurt him!" I yelled anxiously, and I knew damn well better than that, but worry had awakened the village idiot in me.
Tobius just rolled his eyes again and increased the pressure until Sam whimpered and passed out limp against his grandfather's chest. Scooping him up and sliding an arm under the kid's knees the older werewolf smiled tenderly down at him, then carried Sam back to the bedroom.
"I don't want to sedate him," Tobius muttered as he laid the boy down. "We need to talk to him, and the sooner he undergoes his first change the happier I'll feel."
There were certain societies, or as I referred to them: lunatics, out there that held werewolves in great esteem. In particular, newly turned werewolves that hadn't yet changed were highly sought after for their untapped strengths and, as they hadn't made their first kill, purity of soul. Great for satanic sacrifice; not so great for an unchanged werewolf.
Often they were also used by hunters as bait to trap the more powerful and experienced werewolves. Of course, many of these lunatics didn't know about the different species; as a result they were often unprepared for the consequences, and it rarely ended pretty.
But yeah, I had to agree with Tobius on this one. The sooner Sam gave in to the urge to change the safer he'd be, but something told me he'd be putting up a fight.
Which is why I didn't object when Tobius pulled a pair of handcuffs from the drawer of the nightstand, locked one cuff round Sam's right wrist, the other to the headboard.
"We can't afford to let him escape; Sam's too young to fend for himself out there, so until he understands..." Tobius looked almost apologetic.
Yeah, I get it.
It wasn't a pleasant thing to admit but Tobius was right; Sam no longer had human needs as such. For a young werewolf, essentially a pup, the world was fraught with danger, and as tough as the kid was he wouldn't survive on his own for long.
Tobius watched us closely as I climbed on the bed and drew Sam against my chest, whispering to him, hoping he could take comfort from my presence.
"I'll go clean up the kitchen," Tobius turned to go then added. "It'll get easier Dean. But we have some way to go until Sam fully accepts what he's become."
I merely nodded and settled down to listen to Sam's breathing; without realising I was even tired I fell into a deep slumber.
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I woke up hours later to a pair of blue-green eyes staring at me, practically glowing with rage.
"Heya Sammy, how ya feelin'?" I shifted, rolling over just as Sam furiously rattled the handcuffs.
"Pissed is how I'm feeling Dean!" He rattled them again, more violently this time, metal clinking harshly on the bedstead. "Let me out of these right now! You've no right to hold me like this!"
"Sammy, just calm down and I'll go get Tobius." The handcuffs were strong, specially designed to hold angry werewolves. No way Sam was getting out of those anytime soon.
"I'm right here," The older werewolf appeared in the doorway a slight smile on his face. Then he stepped up to the bed, grabbing Sam's chin in a lightning fast movement and studied the kid's eyes.
"Get off me!" Sam tried to squirm free but Tobius was way too strong.
"Hmm... Yes, it's been quite successful." He gently turned Sam's head from side to side and the kid was helpless to stop him. "Unusual eye colour, quite beautiful in fact. He's strong and healthy, despite all he's been through."
"I'm right here!" Sam growled angrily and Tobius grinned. "Stop talking about me as though I'm not even in the room!"
"Your son certainly shares your temper Dean," Tobius remarked casually.
Sam gaped. "Huh?"
Yeah, he's my son all right.
"Now young pup, you must be hungry." Tobius softened his tone, produced a key and proceeded to unlock the handcuffs, smiling kindly at the thorough confusion on the boy's face. "But this time let's take it slow, let your stomach adjust. We don't want you getting sick again."
Sam blinked then glanced over at me, not noticing that Tobius was gently rubbing his bruised wrist.
"S-son? Dean? What's he talking about?" Then he turned to gaze up at his captor. "Who are you? Dean, what's going on? Where the hell are we?"
I opened my mouth but it was Tobius that answered him.
"This is my hotel, and I am your grandfather."
Sam's mouth opened then closed several times, and I could see the blood draining away from his face. "Uh..."
"You are a werewolf of the non-lunar variety. Dean turned you in order to save your life." Tobius pressed his point home. "As a result Dean is now your father. John Winchester is dead." Another wide kind smile and he proclaimed softly: "Welcome to the family, young Sam."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, so much so the kid's eyes rolled back in his head as shock and exhaustion took him out in a dead faint.
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Author's notes:
So, a lot for poor Sam to take in and he is exhausted beyond belief, both physically and mentally. Will Dean and Tobius be able to keep him grounded?
Thank you so much to all who have stuck with the story, and a special thanks goes out to all those wonderful reviewers and kind PMs. They've all served to fortify my courage with this story.
Exceptional thanks again to Jen Burch and Sendintheclowns for all their help.
Kind regards,
ST xxx