Hunter Of The Shadows
Chapter 26
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"Now this is where the trap came into play, 'cause when we arrived at Gordon's coordinates, we realised it wasn't just him we were up against." Dean's obviously in tactical mode, like that moment after taking an exam when all a person can think about is a post-mortem of their answer sheet. "We were instructed to change the minute we arrived. We had three hours to find Tobius, and get out. Those were the terms. We knew that, even if we succeeded, Gordon would hunt us the rest of our lives. We were discussing the best way to put an end to it all, and that's when we caught the scent of humans."
The boys are settled in the living room in front of the fire. Dean's leaning forward and placing a heavy log on the hearth, while Sam sips at a steaming mug, hands a little shaky.
"Turned out, we knew most of those guys…"
"I don't understand why he didn't turn them, like he did with Caleb and Jo," Sam inquires softly.
Dean just shrugs.
"I guess it made the hunt more interesting." He considers that, nodding slowly as if it was beginning to make sense. "Two werewolves up against several patrols of vamps we couldn't smell? Yeah. He didn't wanna make it too easy. Whatever else he is, Gordon likes a challenge."
Sam also nods, and stares into his mug.
"I think by that point Gordon lost sight of what he was doing it for." The kid glances up to gage Dean's reaction to that. "He didn't forget, but John's death fell by the way side a little."
"He was a loon." Dean's eyebrows twitch as he dips his chin in agreement. "But he sure had the others wound up about it…"
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Around the second hour into the hunt, Sam took the silver round meant for me.
We'd been on the trail for Tobius, and I hated to think how much blood Sire must have lost.
Because that's what Gordon used.
No teddy bears rolled in crap, no bundles of clothes left strewn around, just Sire's blood. Back and forth, round in circles, trying to stay on the scent, but at the same time avoiding the patrols, we were lead around like dogs on a leash. Or to put it another way, we chased the proverbial carrot on a stick.
Sam lasted as long as he could, but finally went down hard, panting and whimpering in pain.
We were surrounded, cut off from the Impala, and completely at the mercy of our predators. They were closing in on us from all sides, Sam was bleeding badly from the haunch, and I estimated we had only a half hour at most before they caught us.
But I was damned if we were giving up without a fight. The enemy was armed with silver bullets, silver blades, silver spears; you name it, to make even the bravest, even craziest non-lunar back off. Probably wore silver codpieces in case I got close enough to take a chunk outta them.
Huh, not likely. Getting close was going to be a problem, especially with Sam badly wounded.
Sammy, just a little further dude. I know it hurts.
Can't f-feel my rear l-legs Dean. I-I'm s-sorry.
Hey! No giving up, ok? We ain't dead yet.
Though it was surely only a matter of time.
I sniffed the air. Now we were closer, two of the humans smelled particularly familiar, and I recognised our only chance.
Like I said before, Sam's a huge wolf, and damned heavy with it. But as his sire, Sam's weight was no real problem for me. I performed a fast, painful change, then crouched down in front of him.
Get ready, Sammy. We walking outta here.
Dean? Sad, tired blue-greens glowed deeply in the darkness.
S'ok, buddy.
I scooped the injured wolf into my arms, and with a small grunt of exertion, pushed upwards. Sam whined softly, muzzle draped over my shoulder, glowing eyes watching our backs, his long spiky ears twitching.
Wha… we g-gonna do?
I smiled grimly in the darkness.
Appeal to their humanity.
And so we set off to face a kangaroo court, run by a crazed vampire, in order to beg for our lives. That should've made me laugh, but somehow it didn't seem funny. There was little chance of us surviving, but we had to try.
After all, we had nothing to lose, and if we failed at least we went down together.
Maybe we'd even get to see Tobius one last time.
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I purposely headed towards the patrol coming from the north. Sam was getting weaker, head sliding off my shoulder until his neck twisted awkwardly, muzzle hanging over the crook of my arm.
Sam, stay awake now. Gonna need those puppy dog eyes of yours.
Uhuh. M'here.
Attaboy.
I could hear the patrol by now, a few hundred yards ahead of us. Taking a nervous breath, trying hard not to remember I was butt naked and about to flash a group of humans, I stepped forward.
Time to find out if I was right.
"Bobby! Pastor Jim! It's me, Dean. Don't shoot! I'm coming out!"
All movement ahead halted, and I heard a few muffled whispers.
"Well I'll be da…" That had to be Bobby Singer.
"You may well be," Pastor Jim interrupted. "If you finish that cursing, Singer."
"Sorry."
"Guess we better talk to it."
That made me wince, Pastor Jim referring to me as 'it'. That cut deep, but also took a pot-shot at any hope I'd been harbouring that these old friends might help us. After Caleb, perhaps I should've known better.
Guess I had my work cut out for me.
"Ok!" Bobby called out. "Come out with your hands up."
"Uh, that could be problem." I stepped out anyway, and fixed Bobby with my own puppy eyes. Sure, they ain't as effective as Sam's, but they've been known to work. "Please, help us. Sam's hurt bad." I took another tentative step, but stopped when Pastor Jim raised his shotgun.
"That's far enough." The Pastor glared at us, and I wanted to shrink away. "How can you even think about asking us for help, after what you... abominations did to John?"
"Gordon told us what you did to Caleb and Jo Harvelle." Bobby watched me with narrowed eyes, but I got the feeling he was less certain than the erstwhile cleric. "Girl's mother's out here tonight. She sure wants your heads on a platter."
I couldn't help the smirk.
"Yeah. A silver one, right?" Shaking my head slightly, and wishing I could cut out my own tongue, I moved swiftly onwards. "Look, guys, don't believe everything Gordon told you."
There must have been something in my voice, because Pastor Jim's body language altered subtly. Now he seemed interested in what I had to say.
"Go on," Bobby was still aiming his sawn-off at me, but I could see the uncertain glint in his eyes.
"Caleb and Jo were vampires. Gordon sent them after us."
"Oh please…" Pastor Jim snorted in disbelief.
"I'm telling the truth, ok?" I shifted slightly.
When Sam whined again, I noticed the look on Bobby's face. The guy had a soft spot for dogs, always kept a canine at Singer Salvage; claimed mutts were better people than humans. I was counting on that tonight. "We ain't like the other werewolves you've come across before. We're more like you. Hunters. Tobius taught us to hunt strays that pray on humans. To protect the human race from our own kind; we're not mindless murderers, or brutal, vicious killers. We make our own choices in wolf form."
Ok Sammy, if ya can hear me, lay it on thick.
The kid's answer was a soft, heartbreaking howl of pain, dying off into a pathetic whimper.
I saw Bobby's face soften and took a step closer.
"Please…"
Pastor Jim lowered his weapon slightly.
"That's really Sam?" He sounded amazed.
"Yeah. You can touch him and he won't hurt you, I swear." I felt my heart jump a little when Bobby moved closer and reached out a hand. "Sammy? It's Uncle Bobby, kiddo. Time to wake up."
His fingers, ever so gently, ran through the soft, thick fur behind Sam's ears, and the kid opened his eyes.
This was it. This was how he convinced Jess, so maybe, just may be…
Sam's eyes widened on seeing Bobby for the first time in years, then leaned into the older hunter's touch, making small grunting noises of contentment. His long tongue snaked out, licking a gentle path up the older hunter's hand.
"He remembers you," I offered hopefully.
Bobby smiled.
"Yeah, I can see him now. He's Sammy Winchester all right."
"So," Pastor Jim had completely lowered the shotgun, and shuffled towards us, still a little wary. "You guys actually turn into wolves? Not some hirsute, crazed, half-human looking beast with fangs?"
"That's about it," I replied, then frowned a little when I felt Sam's body shudder. It was a miracle the kid had held off all this time, but the silver bullet was pushing real hard to force a change.
Try to hold on, Sam.
Yeah…'kay…
"Why did you kill John?" Bobby's question took me by surprise.
I wasn't about to explain that it wasn't me, just kept my answer simple.
"Whilst I was gone, he hurt Sam, badly. Beat, starved and tormented the poor kid on a daily basis. By the time I found Sam again, most of his bones had been broken at some stage or other. When John showed up, he tried to kill me, but Sam pushed me out of the way and took the bullet to his chest." I shrugged as if that was all the explanation they needed. "Sam was dying, so I turned him to save his life."
I could see they had more questions, but suddenly we were out of time. The scent of the other patrols grew stronger; they were almost upon us.
"One more thing, guys." I had to make them believe me, though I wasn't sure how. "You do know Gordon Walker's a vampire, right? He turned Jo and Caleb."
"What?!" Pastor Jim was almost physically taken aback.
Bobby didn't say a word but his back stiffened, and his face twisted in an angry grimace.
I was pretty sure asking Gordon to politely bare his teeth in proof wasn't going to work.
And, surprisingly, I was wrong.
He appeared right behind Pastor Jim, grabbed the cleric by the shoulders, and threw him as effortlessly as a baseball. The priest landed in an awkward heap about thirty feet away.
"Sonofabitch!" Bobby's eyes widened comically when Gordon graced him with a fully fanged vamp grin.
Gordon laughed a deep throaty laugh, and as if that were the signal, the other patrols stepped out of the shadows.
The woman had to be Ellen Harvelle, Jo's mother. She had the same eyes and mouth, not to mention I could feel the pure hatred as her eyes lit on me, and she hoisted her crossbow higher. I caught the scent of sweat, feminine and sweet. Human.
A few others stood out; the likes of Steve Wondell, Rufus Turner, some guy I met once in my life and only knew him as Travis, and Daniel Elkins, all old friends to John Winchester. The rest I didn't recognise.
Apart from the one that suddenly appeared beside Ellen.
Joshua. He carried no weapon, and didn't need to. I was pretty sure he was a vampire 'cos he also carried no scent, and if I had to guess, this was the guy responsible for Jessica's death.
"Dean, so glad you could make it." Gordon grinned widely.
It seemed the kangaroo court was in process.
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To be honest, I totally thought we'd get both barrels there and then, so I tried to stall.
"Where's Tobius?"
That smug, toothy grin was beginning to get on my nipples.
"Why, Dean," Gordon countered, leaning casually against a lone tree. "Thought you knew better than that. He's dead." He leaned in a little, studying my face. "You didn't really think he was still alive, did ya?"
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"You bastard!" I spat viciously. "I don't believe you!"
"If the Rolex wasn't proof enough," Gordon held something out. It was Tobius' cell phone. I'd recognise it anywhere. The wall paper was a picture of Sam and me in wolf form, just after Sam's first change. He was still a small pup in that photo, and I was sitting proudly, my muzzle resting protectively over his dipped head. Beautiful blue-green eyes gazed shyly up at the camera phone. It was one of Tobius' favourites, an image of his son and grandson together.
No… It felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me, like this made it all final.
But I still refused to believe it, still denied it.
I don't know what Gordon had in mind next, but the choice was taken away from him when Pastor Jim suddenly leapt up, jammed the barrel of his shotgun into Gordon's back and squeezed the trigger.
Gordon's body arched a nanosecond after the loud boom, and he hissed in pain, dropping to the ground.
"Th-that… w-won't…" he gasped angrily, and choked the words out. "k-kill me!"
"No," Jim loaded another shell. "But it'll hurt like hell."
"Stay right where you are." Bobby's weapon swung upwards and aimed at the patrols when they made a move. "You guys are human, and this will kill you. Dean, get the kid out of here, and take my advice." His eyes briefly met mine. "Don't come back. Find a place to hole up, and stay there. We'll try to send word later."
There was something strange going on here, but for the life of me I couldn't figure it out. Bobby and Pastor Jim were condemning themselves to death.
And all for us.
"You can't take these guys on alone," I began, but I was in for yet another surprise.
"They're not alone." Lenore, complete with an entourage of around ten other vamps materialised from nowhere, fangs glinting evilly.
Bobby nodded, as though expecting this.
"Go on boy! Git! This ain't your fight."
I wasn't going to argue, though my mind was reeling. When the hell did this all get decided? But it certainly explained why Bobby and Pastor Jim believed in me so readily.
"Guys... uh… thanks," I called back and broke into a run, heading away quickly before anyone could change their minds. "I won't forget this."
My last sight of them, human against human, vampire against vampire, ready for the last stand, would haunt me for many years.
As much as I wanted to stay behind and fight, Sam needed help, and that bullet was coming out as soon as we got to safety.
I eventually closed my ears to the loud battle cries, the following sounds of clashing metal, ripping flesh, harsh growls of pain, and pushed onwards.
By the time we reached the car, Sam was howling and crying in agony, the change attacking him without mercy.
It was too late for wolfs bane. With something akin to an epileptic fit, Sam changed back to human form. Struggling to hold on to him, as his legs twisted in on themselves at the hips, I winced in sympathy. Bet he was really feeling that bullet right then.
Nose retracting, ears shifting; back arching, muscles rigid, teeth clenched to breaking point… Sam screamed out in pain.
And carried on screaming, until the change was over and he slumped, limp and unconscious in my arms. The change occurring with silver in his body would make his recovery a slow and painful process, and the kid needed somewhere safe to rest.
Why so painful? You may well ask.
Think about it.
There's a reason fast healing is built into our bodies. For a werewolf to shift form, a huge number of stresses are involved. Muscles have to stretch and strain, bones have to break and re-knit in order to accommodate the change, and if it happens with silver present in the body, all our natural healing processes drop to a dangerously slow rate, effectively inhibited by the poisonous metal.
We couldn't hang around much longer, so I wrapped the kid up in plenty of blankets, and laid him on the back seat. His body was breaking out in a cold sweat and shivering violently, so I made use of a stash of the chelating agent we kept in the glove compartment for just such emergencies.
Dressing hurriedly, and sliding behind the wheel, I turned the key, praying like hell nothing would go wrong. Half expecting the car to have been vandalised in our absence, I held my breath, but the engine turned over first time.
First safe chance, we stopped, and I spent the rest of that night pulling fragments of silver from Sam's hip.
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It was after the second motel that I came up with the idea of keeping a video journal. We'd lost so much in so short a space of time, and it just seemed right to keep a record.
And it helped, ya know? Deep down?
Sam was sick for days, didn't seem to be getting any better, and I had no one else to talk to, to share my fears with. The chelating agent was obviously protecting Sam's heart, but why was he still sick?
I eventually came to the horrible conclusion that I hadn't succeeded in removing all the silver, and so began another lengthy round of field surgery, mind racked with guilt.
It was buried real deep and took hours to find, but eventually it came free. Soon after that Sam started making progress, and it was time to disappear. It wasn't a comfortable journey for the poor kid, but he didn't complain once. A few more over night stops to let him rest properly, a few more journal entries, and Sam began to perk up. He still couldn't walk, the bruising too painful, but he was eating, even smiling occasionally.
We'd both changed a lot, though, and I doubted we'd ever be the same again. Sam was quieter, needed a little nudging to open up, and I sometimes found him just staring mournfully into space. I guess Jessica was never far from his thoughts, because most nights he cried out for her in his sleep, his voice breaking with grief.
Had no idea how to help my boy, and desperately wanted to take away his pain. But this was something the kid had to work through by himself, and all I could do was stay by his side, and pick up the pieces every time he fell apart.
It didn't seem enough.
As for me? I joked, teased, and generally tried to keep things as normal as possible. No easy task. Not even sure I succeeded, but Sam sure seemed to appreciate the effort.
We both underwent our changes, but with Sam still incapacitated, hunting was out. And I couldn't bring myself to leave him for long. Food came from the nearby diner or grocery store, depending on what was closest at the time, but it wasn't the same. The meat was often cheap and processed, and the milk was that watery, skimmed crap, calorie-obsessed bastards pretend to love.
So as our final destination loomed on the horizon, in the form of snowy mountain ranges so familiar it physically hurt, I ordered fresh meat from a specialist butcher, enough to see us through until Sam could be judged well enough to hunt.
Our journey ended at Tobius' cabin, our family home.
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Present day…
"That was a week ago, though it sure feels like longer than that." Dean sounds a little sleepy by now, and stifles a yawn.
"Yeah," Sam huffs out. "More like a life time. Can't believe so much has happened…" he shakes his head, eyes darkening with sadness.
The boys fall silent for a while, the fire spitting gently, and the camera whirring away to itself.
"D'ya think we'll ever find out what happened back there?" Sam asks suddenly, not taking his eyes off the dancing flames. "I mean, there was obviously some kind of battle, right? But who won?"
"I don't know, Sammy." Dean reaches out and rubs the back of Sam's neck, comfortingly. "Too soon to tell, anyhow. They probably underwent one hell of a cleanup campaign afterward."
Picking up the camera he squints into the lens. "I guess you guys are all up to date. And likely as confused as we are right now."
Sam chuckles quietly and Dean's about to switch off the camera when they both suddenly freeze. Nostrils flaring, they glance at each other, in that special way.
Sam hobbles slowly to his feet and Dean advances cautiously across the wooden floor.
"Sammy, I think…" he begins, nervously.
Someone knocks, no, pounds on the front door.
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Author's notes:
So, is it who you think it is? Or was Gordon telling the truth?
I think you all know the answer to that!
So there we have a lovely helping of Limp Sam, with a nice side order of Depressed Sam. Poor Dean really does look after him so well, eh?
And I just had to bring Bobby and Pastor Jim into the fic as the good guys. Such great characters. Pity we never really got to know more about the Pastor on the show.
Lenore and her nest was a bit of a surprise, eh?
Cheers my darlings.
Kind regards,
ST xxx