Hunter of the Shadows Book 2:
Hunter Rising.
Chapter 23
Now…
Sam is snoozing away, head resting in the crook of Dean's elbow. Dean is staring down at him, eyes pinched and haunted by bad memories. One hand is absentmindedly stroking the kid's hair, the other hand is curled round Sam's back, holding him close.
"Do you remember what you asked me?" Tobius says quietly, watching his son and grandson with concern. "Just before we left the Mourant place?"
Dean huffs gently and nods. "Yeah."
"And you must remember what I told you," his Sire raises an eyebrow.
Another nod.
Tobius breathes out silently, leans back on the grass and stares up at the night sky. "I was right, of course."
This time Dean snorts with a certain amount of genuine humour.
"No need to be all smug about it!"
"Ah! But that is the nature of La Salle," Tobius shrugs, a glimmer of a smile appearing. "We French are notoriously smug!"
"And the English are known for their arrogance," Dean counters, smartly, referring to his Sire's dual nationality.
Tobius merely narrows his eyes good naturedly. "And this coming from an American?" he snorts with laughter. "I believe that's a strong case of 'Pot calling Kettle', don't you think?"
Dean tips his head in a touché gesture, and the two werewolves fall into a comfortable silence.
Sam snuffles softly. His eyes slowly open for a moment, revealing that blank, silver stare.
Dean smiles. "Go back to sleep, kiddo," he whispers, tenderly. "All is safe and sound."
The kid tilts his head to the side, listening intently to his fatherbrother, then nods and his eyes slip closed again. Settling further into Dean's arms, the young wolf is soon snoring away.
"So," Dean glances at the camera. "After another warning to behave himself, we left Old Man Mourant behind us. Sam's recovery was going slow… too slow… I guess I was just too impatient…"
Then…
"Come on, get some sleep, my son," Tobius reached over and patted my shoulder. "I'll keep watch over the pup."
And yeah, the guy had a point. I was exhausted and needed some downtime.
"Uh…" I ran a shaky hand through my hair and nearly broke under the sudden desolate feel of helplessness. "Sire…"
It came out as a broken sob.
"Easy now," Sire gripped both my shoulders and peered down into my face. "Not the time, Dean," he whispered, kindly. "It's not the time to fall apart. Maybe later."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak right then.
We sat in silence for a while, Sire still maintaining the light contact, to which I was immensely grateful. He was offering his strength and support, and I was only too eager to draw upon it.
After a few minutes, I found my voice, and asked the question that had been burning a hole in my brain since Jake.
"Do ya… uh… think Sam might have stood a better chance than this? If he'd drank Azazel's blood after all, I mean?"
Sire tensed up. At first I thought he was angry, but when he began speaking in a calm, quiet voice, I realized he was just coming to terms with his own answer.
"Honestly?" His eyes locked with mine. "Yes. Without a doubt."
I nearly fell back with shock. I mean, a part of me, a tiny part, kind of expected it. But to hear it out loud, and said with absolute confidence… it was devastating.
"But…" I stammered, unable to bear it. "You…"
Tobius shook his head and shushed me.
"Think about it, child," he said softly. "Had Sam taken the demon blood, he'd have been too strong for Jake and the silver wouldn't have hurt him. So, I'm afraid the answer is yes. He wouldn't be in so much pain right now, nor hovering so close to death…"
"It's my fault," I interrupt in a blind panic, and gasping for air. "I told him not to, I told him… Oh God… Sire, I damn near sent him to his death!"
"NO!" Tobius swung me up off Sam's bed by my lapels with such force my head was spinning. Next thing I knew, I was slammed against the cabin wall, and Sire's hard gaze was boring into mine.
"It was NOT your fault! Never!" Sire gave me a fierce shake. "Don't you get it? Don't you remember what I told you at the time? Think, Dean!"
I blinked. With a supreme effort on my part, I tracked backwards through my memories to that awful time in the graveyard, and beyond the mind numbing grief and terror I felt seeing Jake's sword slide into Sam like a hot knife through butter.
Back, back much further…
It was when Tobius was doing the whole 'the butler did it in the library with the poker' routine, like a regular modern day Poirot. He was explaining his theory behind the demon blood…
Apprehension dawned like a new day.
Sire watched me closely, and nodded.
"Indeed," he whispered, softly. "Azazel neither confirmed nor denied it, but I firmly believe that by drinking demon blood, Sam would not only have signed away his life and soul to Azazel, but he would have lost his non-lunar status and reverted to human." Tobius tilted his head and asked me, curiously. "So tell me, Dean, would Sam have been able to live with that?"
It took me a long time to answer, and not because I didn't know. Just the opposite, in fact.
"No. You're right. Sam would rather die."
Tobius released his hold on my jacket lapels and smoothed them down, fixing me with a warm, approving smile. "Precisely."
He rested his forehead against mine and we breathed in each other's scent, taking comfort in the small gesture.
"Now, as I was saying, pup," Sire pulled back, still smiling down at me. "It's high time you got some sleep. I'll wake you when it's time for dinner." He frowned, all mock sternness. "Don't make me drug you!"
"O-ok," I muttered and swiped a hand across my face, acutely embarrassed when it came away covered in salt water. I don't cry, dammit!
I settled back on Sam's bed, this time in wolf form, leaving a trail of clothes across the wooden floor boards. Curling up and tucking my snout in Sam's neck, I sighed wearily and closed my eyes.
It was nearly eight hours later when Sire woke me up for food. Even whilst chowing down on the raw lamb hearts Old Man Mourant had especially brought up to us, I barely took my eyes off Sam.
Sire found that he could get pretty much anything he wanted from the old guy, and he fully planned to take advantage of that whilst we were here.
"Sammy? Can you hear me?" I tapped his cheek, gently, trying not to jostle his healing body. The clear plastic of the oxygen mask was fogging up with each slow, even movement of Sam's chest. Never thought I'd be happy to sit and just watch him breathe. But that's just what I did without complaint for, like, hours.
I'd made a nest in the back seat of the Impala out of soft blankets and a large rabbit skin rug - a left over from Tobius' famous spiced rabbit and apple pie. Sire's pretty handy with a needle and thread. Nothing ever goes to waste with that guy, and I had to admit the rabbit fur sure was nice and soft to the touch. Packing it round my boy and carefully stuffing a pillow between him and the seat back, I gazed down at him. He looked comfortable enough, and I would be sitting in back with him to keep a check on his vitals. Sire had assured me Sam was ok to travel by now, and that we'd be making regular motel stops for over-night stays, but still… I couldn't stop the torrent of anxiety thrumming through me. Each adrenaline laden pound of my heart was bringing me closer to the edge of insanity, and I knew I couldn't keep going like this.
Sam's eyes seemed glued shut, with no sign of opening. Kid was well and truly out.
Sire was packing up the car, checking weapons and making a list of any stuff we needed to stock up on.
We'd stayed on in the cabin for another three days, at Mourant's invitation. Gratis by the way. The crusty old motel owner continued to bring us freshly baked bread, soup, steaks, and anything else Sire felt necessary. Though I did raise my eyebrow at the request for a rubber duck.
What? Sire had stared at me with wide-eyed innocence. I just wanted to see if he would.
I had shaken my head, grinning. Definitely spending too much time around us.
Sure enough, the next basket of food had contained a small yellow bath toy, brand new, and still wrapped in its cellophane packaging.
Much to Sire's amusement, it gave out a squeak when he applied pressure.
Later that night, the sound of splashing water drifted out of the bathroom, along with the occasional squeak of Sire's new toy.
I knew what he was doing and, strangely enough, as a morale boosting exercise it worked rather well, going by the small smile that edged its way onto my face.
But now it was time to move on.
Tobius was anxious to get us out to the country. It wouldn't be long before Mourant came sniffing round again, we were certain. Sure, the guy seemed to have turned over a new leaf, but for how long?
Just to be certain, I decided to change and set out to pay the old bastard one final visit.
Sire? I'll be back in a little while, ok? Sammy's still asleep…
Tobius appeared on the cabin's wooden veranda, after one last check inside for anything we might've forgotten, and nodded.
I'll keep an eye on him. Oh and Dean?
Uhuh?
Try to leave the old bloke with at least one fully functioning limb, yes? It wouldn't do to attract too much attention. This was said with a broad grin. Sire knew I had no intention of hurting anyone.
Literally scaring the shit out of the guy once again?
Well, that was certainly on the agenda.
I slunk through the trees, sniffing furiously and picking up the scent of the Blue Tick hounds the closer I got to the motel. The dogs had been quiet each time either Tobius or I had patrolled down the mountain over the last few days, and even now I never heard so much as a whimper.
Night was on its way out, and the sun would soon be rising, so I took advantage of the pre-dawn gloom to make my way passed the motel block, and onto the main building itself. With a quick glance around, I silently climbed the fire escape to Mourant's bedroom window.
Inside, tucked up against the corner of the room, was a double bed covered by an ugly looking comforter -some flowery, swirly patterned thing that could have been used for unspeakable acts at a 1960s rock festival.
There was a lump in the centre of the bed, curled in on itself like a dormouse.
Reaching up with a paw, I scratched a single claw down the glass pane. The noise was enough to set even my teeth on edge.
It was all I could do not to snigger when the lump in the bed leapt up screaming, and fell on the floor with a thud. The guy stared up at the window, his face frozen in terror when he saw me, and began whimpering in fear.
A quick change of the vocal cords, and I delivered my message, certain the guy could hear me through the thin pane of glass.
"Just a reminder. I am watching you."
Mourant nodded. "I-I underst-stand. I pr-promise…"
I studied him for another long moment with narrowed eyes. Then without another word, I snarled, making the guy jump, and took off back into the woods, satisfied the motel owner was indeed on the level.
We didn't wait for daybreak. Soon as I was dressed and sitting in back with Sam's blanket-wrapped legs draped over mine, Tobius was easing away from the cabin, the car rocking gently over the uneven ground.
Sam was doped up to the ears with pain meds and muscle relaxants. Kind of like a drug-induced coma, I'm unhappy to say, but it was necessary to make the journey as comfortable as possible for the poor kid. His future was still uncertain. There was no way to tell if he'd survive, or what the outlook would be if he did.
Yeah, I know. Outlook? That sure turned out to be a poor choice of word, huh?
We travelled with the radio on low volume, whilst we talked quietly, hoping that somehow Sam could hear our voices through the drug-haze, and take some kind of comfort knowing we were right there with him.
We stopped on the roadside once or twice to stretch our legs and take a breath of air. Sam slept on, oblivious to the world around him. Sire changed the IV bag as soon as it emptied, we grabbed a bite to eat, and hit the road again soon after.
After a few more miles, I began to feel a little strange. Something was niggling at me. Took me a while to figure it out, but I got there in the end.
"Hey Sire? You realize this is the first time in ages we've been on the road without someone chasing after us one way or another?"
Tobius appeared to think about that, then I caught his small grin in the side mirror.
"Now that you mention it…" he winked. "I could get use to this."
The next motel we stopped at was a little cleaner and a little livelier. A bar resided just across the parking lot, and though I thought about it for all of three seconds, I turned away. Wasn't in the mood for beer and partying, least ways not without Sam.
Speaking of…
I wrapped the kid in my arms, blankets and all, and lifted him from the rear seat. Sire had already unlocked the motel room door and stood to the side, eyes scanning the parking lot out of habit.
The only thing of note was a young bar maid, clutching a box of beer bottles, hurrying into the alley, and remerging moments later empty handed. Without so much as a glance in our direction, she tottered on ridiculously high heels back into the bar, slamming the heavy door behind her.
I didn't really take too much note at the time, but Sire seemed on edge about something, staring hard at the bar door, eyes pinched. It wasn't until later that it began to make sense.
I guess it was the loud music coming from the bar that put us both on edge that night, 'cos neither of us slept too well. Course, it didn't help when the sound of breaking glass had the both of us up off the beds, heads cocked and listening to the shouts of a drunken brawl taking place outside the bar.
Running footsteps and loud swearing grew closer, until they passed right by our door.
Sire moved to one side of the window, shifted the curtain slightly, and took a peek.
Sire?
Wait here. It's probably nothing, but I want to check it out anyway.
It could have been a measure of our paranoia, but I grabbed my H&K from the duffle sitting by the bed, and flipped the safety off. It was loaded with silver, just in case.
Sire nodded approvingly, shed his clothes, changed and slipped out the door.
Be right back.
Beta instinct encouraged me to shadow our pack alpha, for his own safety, but I balked at the idea of leaving Sam alone and vulnerable. So I waited it out, standing silently by the window, gun at the ready and covering the motel room door.
It was forty five minutes later before Sire returned, nosing the door open and padding quietly inside.
Well?
He shook from head to tail and snorted. Nothing but some rowdy trouble makers. Still, I'd rather not step down just yet. I'll keep watch for the rest of the night.
I eyed him, suspiciously. What aren't you telling me?
The big wolf huffed, sat back on his haunches and gave his right ear a good hard scratch. Just feeling a touch spooked. Those men… there was something familiar about one of them, but I can't put my finger on it.
Sitting back on the edge of Sam's bed, I made a gimme gesture. Familiar? How? Are we talking recently?
Tobius stopped scratching and turned his head my way. Remember when you and Sam were being hunted by Walker's patrols?
How could I forget? Sammy got shot that night and we only just managed to get away by the skin of our fangs. There was a battle in our wake, human against human, vampire against vampire. Sire - whom we had believed to be dead at the time - Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer, with the help Lenore of the Florida vamp nest, won hands down and were responsible for the clean up, but still one or two of the enemy managed to get away…
I sat up straight. You really think it's one of them?
Sire changed and grabbed up his clothes. Possibly. Can't say for certain.
He was being cagey again.
Sire! I growled, impatiently. How come you didn't recognize his scent?
Tobius sighed, fastened his button-down and raised his head. Ok. Cards on the table… there was no scent.
Shit! The one that got away was one of Gordon's vamps, rather than just another hunter pissed off exclusively by the Winchester boys.
There's no scent at all coming from that bar.
Double shit!
I just stared at him, aghast.
So, there we were, hidden away in a motel room, one of us dangerously sick, and surrounded by one BIG fucking vamp nest. And not just any big fucking vamp nest, but possibly headed up by one of the bastards that were after us all those months ago.
It was obvious why we hadn't been made, yet. We still ritually dusted ourselves down with the potent smelling herb that cloaked our scent. It was pretty much second nature to us.
See, vamps can smell us perfectly well – provided we're not using that herb - but no matter how hard we try, we can't smell them. Different scent wavelengths or something.
It troubled me greatly that I hadn't even noticed there was no smell around the bar. It should have been conspicuous by its absence, but I'd failed to pick up on that.
Dammit!
Shush, young pup. Tobius knelt down in front of me and squeezed the back of my neck. You've had a lot on your mind. Your sole priority has been Sam, and you've handled it admirably. Leave the beta work to me for now, yes?
In other words, he'd noticed the lack of scent earlier, possibly before the bar brawl found its way outside.
Maybe we should go. I said, dejectedly.
Tobius shook his head firmly. No. That would make it too obvious something's up. They'll be on us before we could blink. We're perfectly safe here, provided we keep our heads down and stay quiet until daylight.
That made sense, but what I didn't understand…
Why did you stop here in the first place? Why didn't we just keep on going?
Sire smiled, sadly. We all needed a break, Sam especially. And for the record, I had no idea the bar was a vamp nest until we'd already checked in and were settling down for the evening. It was the bar maid who tipped me off. She opened the bar door, and all I could smell was the usual spilled beer, whisky and tobacco. Nothing else. Not even a drop of sweat.
I guess running into one of Gordon's vamp thugs was just coincidence, then. We wouldn't have known he was here if Sire hadn't checked it out. And where there was one, the other would surely be.
You think they're still on the grid?
Tobius considered that. Hard to tell. If they're still in Azazel's employ then it begs the question: why weren't they sent out after us before now?
Maybe they were told to back off whilst the competition against Jake and the others was underway. I shrugged, uncertain and worried as hell about the implications. Maybe, their contract ended the moment I iced the bastard.
That's a possibility. Sire looked thoughtful. No matter. I'll take care of it in the morning, make sure they can never come after us.
I grinned tentatively, instantly liking the sound of that.
Early the next morning we rolled out of the parking lot, Sam still drugged unconscious, me in the back seat with him, and Sire looking rather smug at the wheel.
Behind us, the bar lay in ruins, doors charred by fire and hanging off their hinges. Windows were black gaping holes from when the glass had blown out, and the smoking, molten plastic of old beer crates littered the area.
When the cops arrived they would find several blackened remains with their throats ripped out. Sire had gone in quick the moment the sun rose. A mere five minutes later he'd emerged, fire and smoke in his wake, blood dripping from his muzzle, and an extremely satisfied look on his huge furry face.
He'd bounded over, leapt behind the wheel, performed an instant change and we sped off, Tobius steering with one hand and scrabbling at his clothing with the other.
You get 'im?
Of course! He'd winked at me in the side mirror again, and we left it at that.
I didn't need to ask for details. My imagination could fill in the gaps pretty well, with all I knew about Sire. It was enough to know that at least one of Walker's vamps was out of the picture once and for all.
After that? Life was pretty uneventful, and you guys have seen much of it during my journal intros, so there's no need for me to elaborate here.
Suffice to say that Sam woke up blind, eyes silvered out, body weak and sick. We'd had to stop at that point, leave the road, and devote all our time to keeping Sam's spirits up.
There were moments when I wondered about calling Jim or Bobby, just to let them know the score, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. This wasn't the time or place for human intervention, and those guys understood that. We knew they would contact us only under extreme emergency, but in the mean time, they'd kindly left us alone. As Tobius had once said, after the battle at the graveyard, this was something we had to do as a pack, though we'd had no idea what was in store for us all at that point.
Pain, blindness, despair, depression; all the struggles Sam underwent, just to make it through each and every day without cracking up. Sometimes it felt like we were back on that mountain pass, battling against everything Mother Nature threw at us, and emerging on the other side shaken, exhausted and, sometimes, devastated.
But so long as you ride out the bad stuff, remain patient and faithful, you quickly find that the good times come right along, hot on the heels of the bad. Sometimes it takes a little courage to pull your head out of the sand in order to notice it, but it does happen. We took comfort in that, and when Sam was finally on the mend, though still unable to see, we set out on the last part of the journey.
A few hundred miles of travelling, and we were there. We were safe in our special place.
Now…
Dean stops talking suddenly, and Tobius springs to his feet.
The digital audience can't hear a thing, but the two senior wolves clearly can. They are listening and staring intently at the tree line, as though waiting for something to happen.
And it soon does.
A large shape lumbers out of the forest, with a great crashing of breaking branches and the thumping of huge paws. The camp fire flames flicker and dance abruptly, disturbed by the rush of air as the shape draws closer and is revealed to be a big black bear with soft, gleaming fur. Its eyes are narrowed with purpose, but soon widen in fear when it realizes its trajectory is on a collision course with the fire pit. With a loud bellow of anguish it tries to stop, but skids, big beefy front quarters windmilling clumsily. It tries to somersault over the top, but flops without grace right on top the tallest flames.
The bear leaps up and begins hopping around, frantically scrabbling at its' butt until the flames are out, leaving a small patch of singed fur.
When the drama reaches its conclusion, the large bear, with a disgruntled growl, suddenly shrinks down, fur disappearing, and snout morphing into a human nose. It leaves the digital watcher without a doubt that this is indeed a werebear.
"Andy? What you doing here?" Dean asks, just as Sam stirs and mutters sleepily.
Andy is a tiny guy, at least in comparison to his werebear form. He shakes his head and grabs a spare blanket to cover his naked form.
"I have gotta stop crashing into things! Seriously! S'getting' embarrassing…" he trails off when he sees Sam. "Dude! You ok? Your eyes…"
Sam blinks and looks over in Andy's direction. "Yeah, tell me about it," he murmurs, sadly. "That's what silver does to me."
Andy flushes deep red and splutters his apologies until Sam waves him off.
"Forget it, man. You weren't to know."
Tobius sits down beside the werebear and places a hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing all the way out here, child?" he asked, kindly.
Andy suddenly looks tired, worn, and deflated now the excitement is over and the adrenaline rush at an end. Like he's been on a long journey and is only now allowing himself to rest.
"I got a message for you," he suddenly glances over at Dean. "For all of you. Actually, it's originally from Bobby and Pastor Jim, but it was Lucas who sent me to find you."
"That makes sense," Sam muses, chewing on his bottom lip. "Cell phones wouldn't get a signal out here."
"Of the Home pack?" Dean frowns and glances at Tobius. "How'd Bobby and Jim know about them?"
"Andy's family met up with them before we went after Sam to Mont. Noir," Tobius repies, still carefully eyeing the young werebear as though he's about to collapse. "Andy joined them soon after we got back. Now," he tilts his head slightly. "You say you had a message for us?"
Andy just shrugs, tiredly. "Whatever. Bobby's been trying to get hold of you guys for weeks now." He softens his voice a little. "Pastor Jim was attacked."
"What?"
The werewolves, including Sam, sit up straight, exclaiming loudly.
"Is he ok? Is he gonna be alright?"
Andy nods, eager to put their minds at rest. "He's fine. Broken leg, bruised shoulder, but he'll live. He's been in hospital the last month."
"Who did this?" Tobius growls, fists clenched by his sides.
"Uh, they didn't say," Andy glances nervously around at the angry wolves. "But Lucas suggested for your own safety that you head to the home pack. I wasn't told much more than that. Said it was for your ears only."
After another quick glance at his friends, Andy says in a voice way too timid for a fierce bear, as though expecting trouble:
"Uh… in fact... it wasn't a suggestion as such, more an instruction," he swallows hard before adding "I'm here to bring you in... asyour acting bodyguard."
The werewolves are silent for a long while.
Andy begins to fidget as the two older wolves stare at him in disbelief.
Whatever the young werebear is expecting, it clearly isn't for the pack alpha and beta to suddenly begin laughing raucously… right in his face.
Author's Notes:
Nono! Andy's serious (struggles to keep a straight face).
Bless 'im.
So hands up those who are curious to know what the news is?
How many of you have a theory on it? By all means please let me know - and you'll find out next chapter if you were right.
Many thanks for all your reviews. Sorry for not replying this time - this has happened a lot whilst this book was underway, but time restraints were the culprit. In order to release two chapters a week it was sometimes necessary to neglect you all. Though the book was mostly written well ahead of time, there were still re-writes, plot changes and of course the wonderful beta work by Phx to take into account.
But here we all are, on the 'eve of the finish.
One more chapter and this book is complete.
Kind regards,
ST xxx
