Hunter of the shadows book 2:

Hunter Rising.

Chapter 2

Now...

"Tobius is out gathering more herbal pain meds," Dean mutters, busy laying a cold, damp washcloth across a sleeping Sam's hot forehead, but not too busy to talk to the camera. "Though if this continues, he says we may have to give him morphine." He hangs his head briefly. "I pray it doesn't come to that... and I've never been the praying kind."

Dean falls silent for a long moment, just watching over the younger boy on the bed. The room is silent except for the harsh panting of the injured youngster, and the slower breathing of the anxious fatherbrother.

"It's been two steps forward and two steps back these last few months," he whispers, despondently. "Think I've lost count of how many times Sammy's been hurt. No matter what I do... I couldn't keep my promise... I couldn't protect him this time."

He reaches up and gently cups his brotherson's cheek. "So sorry, kiddo," Dean swallows hard and sniffs, eyes spilling over with tears. "Please... I know you've had so much riding against you... but you're my son... you gotta keep fighting. If I lose you... I won't make it."

Then...

Sam hung his head, but said nothing. His shoulders seemed to slump under an invisible weight, haunches down, tail drooping mournfully.

C'mon, let's get some sleep. My shoulder bumped his, comfortingly, when worried sorrowful eyes bored into mine. We'll figure this out, but you gotta talk to us, ok? Don't shut us out, Sammy.

Sam slid to the grass dejectedly, nose on paws, and watched the dancing firelight. Tobius curled up on one side of the pup, with me on the other, and we took it in turns to keep a vigil over our youngest for the rest of the night.

The following day went pretty much the same way. Tobius was determined we would relax and cease worrying for a time. And we sure needed it.

He took us on a long day patrol, keeping the pace nice and easy, just appreciating our surroundings and breathing the fresh, cool air. With evening came another fun 'fishing' lesson for Sam, and I hadn't heard the kid laugh so much in way too long. Gone was the grim, worried and determined hunter in his early twenties. That day, I had my fifteen year old brotherson back again.

I lay awake some time later staring at the flames, occasionally nosing a small log into the fire pit. Tobius snuffled from time to time, and Sam snored lightly, with my muzzle resting over his neck. The young wolf was still often plagued with nightmares but that night was the quietest he'd been in a long while. When we hadn't drugged him of course.

I could feel the call of sleep pulling me under, the scent of wood smoke and the crackling fire, easily more soothing and calming than that damn whale music new-agers like to listen to.

Just dozing, huffing gently through my snout, eyes half closed…

There was another fragrance mingling with the smoke.

My head snapped up.

Humans.

Tobius! They're here!

But Sire was already awake, and sprang to his paws. Padding forward to stand in front of the blaze, Tobius sat back on his haunches, and waited.

I can only imagine the amazing scene Pastor Jim Murphy and Bobby Singer were presented with when they stumbled onto us a half hour later.

Tobius, in wolf form, silhouetted against the firelight, his fur gleaming with flecks of gold, and his family watching attentively in the background.

Judging by the dropped jaws, I'd have to say they were pretty stunned. But not intimidated; that's not really a word that exists in their vocabulary. The strongest word they might use is impressed.

Sire changed smoothly, bowed his head respectfully and held out a hand in greeting.

"Welcome," he smiled warmly, and the two humans visibly relaxed into a slightly less defensive stance.

Sure we were allies now, but no hunter worth his salt (no pun intended) would bet their lives on it without hard evidence.

They are humans. We are werewolves. There are protocols to follow.

The two human hunters eyed the werewolf and both steadfastly kept their gaze above Tobius' waist. Clearly, Sire's nakedness was making Bobby a little uncomfortable, but in reality it's a traditional non-lunar custom to greet trusted friends in one's birthday suit before discussing important business. Kind of a 'here we are, this is us, take it or leave it'. It's considered a mark of respect, but by the look on Bobby's face, I'd have to say he wasn't taking it that way.

I could almost hear the poor guy's thoughts, as he shuffled from foot to foot.

Bobby was probably just too polite to mention 'Hey! Guess what? Don't rip my throat out or anything, but... you're naked!'

Which I found a little unusual for Bobby 'get to the damn point' Singer. Fortunately, he stayed in character…

"Uh," Bobby scratched the back of his neck, and narrowed his eyes. "Is this the way of things? You expecting us to strip off too?" he shuddered a little. "'Cos if it's all the same with you, I'd rather not. S'a little chilly out here."

Tobius' mouth twitched in amusement but, ever the gentleman wolf, he kept his laughter under wraps. "Indeed," he replied, kindly, inclining his head slightly. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

The priest didn't mention it, just cleared his throat and nodded.

"Monsieur Le Salle," Pastor Jim shook the proffered hand with an air of formality that made me grin. "Always a pleasure."

I sensed Sammy holding back his mirth.

"Please, Pastor Jim," Sire replied in a deep, friendly voice that nonetheless brooked no argument. "Monsieur Le Salle was my father, and many years' dead. Call me Tobius."

His invitation was accepted graciously.

Bobby relaxed, shook Sire's hand and patted his shoulder, obviously content now that he knew where he stood. He stared Tobius in the eye for a moment.

"Good to see you boys again," Bobby appraised with genuine affection, then nodded respectfully towards Sammy and me as though seeking permission.

Sire grinned broadly, affectionately. "Likewise, old chap, likewise."

Permission granted.

Not that Bobby needed it; he was just being polite. He took one step in our direction, and that was as far as he got.

Bobby landed on his back with a loud "ommph!" and began squirming.

"Dean! Get off me, you damn great fur ball!" he yelled.

Standing over him, paws straddling either side of his body, I just grinned and swept my tongue up the side of his head, then made sure to breathe warm, fishy breath right into his nostrils. Satisfied I had his attention; I finished off by burying my wet snout deep in his neck.

"Ugh! Let me guess. You had trout for dinner, right?" Bobby eyed me with mock fury, though I'm sure his disgust was real enough. "That's real nice of ya, ya idgit!"

I just sank back on my haunches, tongue lolling out, with an air of smugness that made Tobius proud.

Bobby sat up; grinning in spite of himself, then tenderly ruffled the fur at my ears. His elbow seemed to develop a nervous twitch until a large, wet black nose appeared, nudging its way under Bobby's arm.

"Well, hello there, Sam," Bobby's grin softened. The young wolf sat demurely, his uncle's arm wrapped round him, and genteelly licking at Bobby's chin. The grizzled hunter chuckled. "Yeah, I missed you too, boy."

Pastor Jim began stroking my ears, and I close my eyes in contentment, leaning heavily against his hip. It was all he could do not to topple over and I smothered a grin. The guy smelled of menthol oil, for some reason, which I didn't mind but it did tickle the sensitive hairs in my nose.

"You're looking fit and well, Dean," Jim murmured. Poor guy still sounded a little uncertain. I guess he just needed more time to get use to us.

But… there was something about his scent…

I began sniffing in earnest, snout travelling upwards and roundabout.

Yup. It was faint over the scent of menthol, but definitely there, and it smelt… divine!

I suddenly rose up on my hind legs, and nosed my way inside the Pastor's dark jacket, snuffling eagerly.

Where is it? I know it's here!

"Dean, what on earth are you doing?"Sire called, sounding amused.

Pastor Jim, though at first stunned and possibly a little worried, soon recovered and started laughing at my faint growls of frustration, especially when I stuffed my snout deep into his jacket pocket.

But nothing!

Where the hell is it? I fumed again, frantically sniffing and drooling by now.

Dean? Sam padded over, sat down in front of us and tilted his head to the side. If it's the fresh batch of chocolate fudge cake you're looking for, you might wanna try checking the small day pack he's wearing?

I stopped my frantic movements instantly, and stared over at him; snout still trapped in the Pastor's pocket.

Huh? How dya know that?

Sam appeared to be laughing at me.

Little bastard!

'Cos Bobby told me just now. The Pastor's keeping them fresh and warm in an insulated container, which he shielded with the menthol oil you can smell.

Tobius chuckled. "And the oil might have worked well," he said aloud, "had the good Pastor not have been wearing the very same clothes he wore whilst baking, of course."

Pastor Jim smiled ruefully and shook his head in acknowledgement. "I guess I should've thought of that."

Harrumph! I snorted in disgust. Smart asses the lot of ya!

I attempted to pull back with every intention of relieving the good Pastor of his burden.

Only… well…

I kinda got stuck.

Trying to tug my muzzle from Jim's pocket proved ineffectual, so I adopted a well known ancient coping strategy often employed during 'Trapped Wolf Syndrome'.

Basically, I panicked. Shaking my head from side to side, I damn near tore the lining to shreds trying to get free. My muffled and mournful howls of despair might have been the motivation behind Jim's act of kindness, but more likely it was a desperate hope to save his jacket. His gentle hands reached out and stilled my struggles, fingers digging into the fur on either side of my head.

"Calm down, child," he muttered, and slowly began to work me free of the fabric. "I'll soon have you out."

"That'll teach ya to poke your nose in things that don't concern ya!" Bobby chortled away

Of course, Tobius had to make his own contribution.

"Don't think for a moment he'll learn his lesson," Sire drawled, smugly. "When it comes to chocolate fudge cake, or a well endowed bar maid, I'm afraid all reason escapes him."

Sam just carried on grinning, tongue lolling out his chops. Kid was definitely learning the ways of Le Salle.

Again. Bastard!

"Nothing changes," Bobby retorted from his seat by the fire. He was laying back, arms crossed under his head, casual as you please. Guy could've spent his entire life in the company of non-lunars. He seemed that comfortable around us, probably no longer even noticing Sire's state of undress.

Finally, Pastor Jim took off the small pack, and, way too slowly for my liking, unzipped the main compartment.

When the smell of warm chocolate hit me like a tidal wave, I damn near pounced, but a firm hand on the scruff of my neck and a soft warning in my ear kept me back.

"Dean," Sire admonished. "Gently, now. You're a little bigger than you used to be."

Yeah, last time Pastor Jim and Bobby saw us was six months ago. We'd been on the move in all that time, hunting down strays, poltergeists and even a wendigo or two, toning up and getting stronger. And with my quarter century so close by, I'd been busy getting even bigger.

"Here ya go," Jim opened the lid on a plastic container, pulled out a square piece of cake and held it in the palm of his hand.

I know what you might be thinking. We weren't behaving like actual wolves around these guys; we were behaving like domestic dogs. As undignified as that seemed, its standard operating procedure around humans. Besides, this was a sign that Jim Murphy trusted us, and I wasn't about to fuck that up.

Slowly, I extended my muzzle and gently relinquished Pastor Jim of the chocolaty treat.

I couldn't help myself. Groaning in delight, I chewed, swallowed, and licked my chops with a loud, wet smacking noise. Jim roared with laughter when I began snuffling into his hand, then with low doggy grumbles started nipping gently at his fingers.

The guy offered a piece to Sam, the youngster gently accepting it with a soft whine of thanks, and now Pastor Jim had two wolves quite literally eating from the palm of his hands.

"I guess I'm finally accepting all this," his quiet voice took me by surprise. Looking up, I found Jim staring at me intently, a small smile on his face. "I struggled with it at first, even after the battle against Gordon I wasn't certain… werewolves were supposed to be evil… but with the good Lord's guidance, I learned to see the truth. This truly is you. And Sam," he glanced at the youngest wolf, "is now your son."

My gaze followed his, my heart bursting with love.

Brotherson… I whispered to Sam.

Fatherbrother… Sam whispered back.

And if I didn't know any better, I could've sworn Bobby and Jim heard our silent exchange. Or, maybe, they sensed it more than anything. You humans can be pretty intuitive when you put your minds to it.

"Dean's a strong and excellent father," Tobius' soft voice broke the quiet. "And I couldn't ask for a more wonderful and kind hearted grandson."

He moved closer and rested a hand on my head, fingernails gently scratching my fur, eyes glowing with pride. "I'm very proud of them both."

Sam, typically, ducked his muzzle under mine, and buried his snout in my neck.

Sammy, I laughed, softly. You ever gonna learn to deal with compliments, dude? If you were in human form right now, you'd be blushing like a little girl!

Shutup Dean!

Sam's shy response hadn't gone unnoticed, least of all by Bobby Singer, who grinned widely when the youngster peered up at him with those big puppy dog eyes.

Tobius cleared his throat. Come on, boys. Time to talk.

We both knew that tone, and within seconds all present were seated round the fire, werewolves naked and in human form, but curled up together under a soft fleece blanket for warmth.

You can't afford to be self-conscious as a werewolf, and Sammy was finally coming to terms with it. Snuggling together is a natural instinct for us, regardless of form, and is also an essential part of the pack bonding process. It's especially important when one of the pack is grieving, though I guess you could say we were all in mourning for Jess. Girl would have been a pack member one day, that much I was sure of.

So there's nothing chick-flick or perverted about it; just a silent need for comfort, and a physical need for warmth and contact. And having Sammy so close sure aids my peace of mind.

A vague memory of my life before becoming a non-lunar made me inwardly chuckle, and not for the first time. No way would I have been so accepting of sleeping naked beneath the blanket with Sam if I were still human.

Sam stifled a yawn, and I grinned, cupping the back of his neck, supporting him and guiding his head down to rest on my shoulder. And though his eyes slipped shut, I knew he was still awake. Sam was just dozing, but awake enough to hear what was being said.

It was actually kind of cute, and I'm certain Bobby agreed, given the fond smile directed our way. Sam, head resting on my shoulder, eyes closed and face flushed by the warmth of the fire, would murmur his contribution quietly now and then in a sleepy voice. And yeah, back came that fifteen year old at times like this, so I wasn't complaining.

Tobius leaned over and gently stroked Sam's hair, whilst I nuzzled my son's ear and breathed in his scent. We'd had too many near misses over the years, Animal Control issues aside, and it felt so damn good to relax amongst friends, take a breather and appreciate that, for now, Sam was safe.

The discussion started out fairly low key, relating the various hunts we'd been on since leaving the cabin, and there sure had been plenty. Ranging from a woman in white, a haunted mirror, a rawhead, non-lunar strays, and, of course, lunar-dependent could always be counted upon.

But my personal favourite had been a haunted truck, particularly because it led to a brief yet satisfying fling with the rather delicious Cassie Robinson.

Oh yeah.

She was a fiery, African-American journalist and non-lunar, with deep almond eyes and a body just made for sex. It only lasted as long as the case, and that was just fine by the both of us. We parted as friends and promised to keep in touch but that wasn't likely. We were just two ships passing in the night, after all.

Sammy was a little disappointed. I think he liked her. Cassie was only one hundred years younger than Tobius, despite looking around Sam's age, and maybe Sam saw her as a mother figure. That thought had never occurred to me before, but when I brought it up, Sam had just shaken his head and laughed.

I'm nearly twenty-one, Dean. Little old to be having mommy-issues, don't ya think?

Kid had a point.

But he had missed out in that respect, and once that thought caught hold, I couldn't shake it off. I began quizzing Tobius about other werewolves, real subtle-like, ya know…?

Sire? Know of any chick-werewolves looking for a mate?

He just fixed me with that look, the one that's halfway between fond amusement and tired frustration.

Dean, he replied slowly. Given his recent bereavement, I assume you're not asking on Sam's behalf. Which leaves you, he poked my chest, and me?

An eyebrow shot up. Just for the record, I do not need dating tips from you, young pup!

I'd grinned in response. Sure about that Mr Monk? And chuckled when he growled a warning. Nah, seriously. I was just wondering…

But he heard me out...

...and he didn't approve.

Tobius had sat silently for a long time after listening to my theory, which was: find a mate for me, who would be a mother to Sam. Hey presto! A full family. But it seemed to amuse and sadden Tobius all at the same time. He'd sat back and held a finger to his upper lip in thought, then cleared his throat.

"You're an excellent father and, if anything, this… ridiculous idea has proved it." Tobius had sighed softly at this point. "But a forced union – and that is what it would be – between you and another non-lunar isn't going to help Sam with what troubles him now. All he needs is you…"

And you I added, quickly, earning a smile of thanks from the older wolf.

"…and throwing another stranger into the mix may make matters worse for him," Tobius had finished.

"He liked Cassie," I'd pointed out, though with a little less enthusiasm in the face of Sire's blatant rejection of my match making idea.

Tobius had smiled. "As a friend only," he'd tilted his head slightly. "That, and she made you happy for a little while."

He reached over and grasped my left hand, running a thumb over the knuckles.

"When you meet her, you'll know and you'll be ready, the timing perfect," Sire murmured. "But it can't be just for Sam; that would be too heavy a burden for the both of you."

Yeah. If it didn't work out, we'd all be hurt by it, and Sammy would probably blame himself, knowing full well I'd only embarked on a permanent relationship for his sake. Kid was perceptive that way.

So that was the end of the matter. The subject never came up again, much to my relief, 'cos frankly, I was feeling a little foolish and embarrassed by the whole thing. I love being Sam's father. There's nothing else worth living for, as far as I'm concerned. But I wasn't ready to settle for one woman. Perhaps I never will.

"Dean? You with us kid?"

Bobby's sharp elbow in the ribs brought me hurtling back to the present, and I blinked in surprise. It wasn't like me to drift off, but then, I guess I had a lot to think about.

"Uh, yeah… sorry guys," I shook my head with a rueful grin. "You were sayin'?"

Pastor Jim cleared his throat. "Tobius was just telling us that you've taken up… golf?"

I stiffened at first, then shrugged. I had nothing to be ashamed of. Sam snorted, eyes snapping open to reveal blue-green irises glowing with mirth.

Ok, I get it. I narrowed my own eyes at Sire who merely grinned back. The wolf skin gloves are off, huh?

"Uh, let's just say, the least said about Dean's amorous activities of late, the better," Sam came to my aid, but his grin suggested it wouldn't last.

"Hey! It's perfectly natural!" I protested, weakly.

Sam pursed his mouth and thought about that, before slowly remarking. "When we took off from the Bluebell Tavern, there were foot prints on the Impala's windshield, which could lead us to suggest that whatever you were doing to that poor bar maid, it wasn't natural."

"Nothing wrong with a little acrobatics in the bedroom…" I replied with a smirk.

"So long as it stays in the bedroom," Tobius snarked out.

"And not the bunker on the golf course!" Sam exclaimed in mock disgust.

Bobby and Pastor Jim had been following the conversation with barely concealed amusement, but now that we were finally getting to the crux of the matter, to wit, Sire's golf comment, they burst out laughing.

"Dude, it wasn't in the middle of the PGA Championship, ok?" I admit to sounding a little petulant, but it was so worth it to see a glimpse of our Sammy once more.

Sam glared at me, though he was clearly trying not to laugh.

"You didn't even rake the sand back afterwards."

"Ah, I can just picture the scene," Tobius announced casually, whilst Bobby shook his head and the Pastor rolled his eyes. "An elderly couple, out for a Sunday afternoon round of golf. The wife is winning on the sixteenth hole, when she accidentally applies too much spin, and her ball lands in Dean's sandy buttock print."

"So, game over then. No way is she prising that free," Sam added, virtually choking with laughter

"Hey!" I protested against another round of snorting from Bobby and Jim. "My ass is not fat! I have a cute ass, and you both know it!"

"Can't honestly say I've been looking, Dean," came Sire's dry comment. "I really don't swing that way."

That was just a little too much for me.

And besides, a quick glance at my Rolex told me time was getting away from us.

"Fun as this is, guys," I attempted a swift change of subject, and none too subtly either. "But dya think the reminiscing can wait 'til later? We've got case details to discuss, and I want to know what was so important that two human hunters came to a clandestine meeting with a non-lunar pack in the middle of nowhere."

I liked to think it was my tone of voice, combined with the use of clandestine that got their attention, but I'm pretty sure it was just the reminder that the world was a considerably more dangerous place for a certain young pup than was strictly usual, even by our standards.

I gently squeezed Sam's shoulder when I saw that nervous frown emerge.

Sorry kiddo, but it's time to get down to business.

To my relief, Sire nodded approvingly. In the past, he'd quietly admonished my killjoy approach, but I guess this time it was a little more critical.

Playtime was over. Serious discussion was soon underway and continued on until the sky began to lighten in the east.

Tobius had filled the humans in on Sam's visions about the special children, and our theory that these were the damaged prototypes used to lure Sam in.

The kid just sat staring into the fire.

You ok, Sam? I bumped his shoulder with mine.

As well as can be expected, I guess, came his solemn reply, but a sudden small, tired grin and the stiffening of his spine sent a bolt of pride through my heart. No one can say our lives are dull, huh?

I chuckled softly. Got that damn straight!

He must have given himself a silent pep talk, because the Sam sitting beside me wasn't the frightened kid he'd been a few hours ago. This Sam was in hunter mode.

This Sam was rallying his strength and confidence in the face of an uncertain future. He'd meet it head on, with barely a flinch and, scared though he must have been, the kid wasn't going to let it break him.

That's ma boy.

"So there you have it, gentlemen," Sire brought his speech to a close. "It appears the game is afoot."

Or a knee, I bumped Sam's shoulder again.

Could be a hand, Sam surprised me by joining in, and we chuckled in our heads, until Sire growled a low warning.

Stop messing about, you two!

Sam and I hung our heads in silent apology, though the twitch at the corner of Sire's mouth told me he wasn't too mad at us.

And now, it was Bobby and Pastor Jim's turn.