Special Bonus Feature Chapter! Were!chesters
...In which the Winchesters, faced with one of those decision points that history, free will and time throw up at any given instant, went down the other leg of the Trousers of Time – as that parallel universe spun off the Jimiverse, they decided that, having become members of the Jaeger pack, they would remain Old North werewolves, and continue with the family business: saving people, Hunting things, peeing on the tires of the cars of guys who annoy Dean...
Not long now...
Deakin turned his face up to the sky, let himself enjoy the feeling of the wolf rising, and marvelled again at how frigging stupid his family was.
The Secret, it had been from as early as he remembered, The Secret, which was so special that he couldn't tell anybody, not even his best friend. The Secret, that meant that every full moon, his mother would shut his father, himself and his brother in the basement. Not that they needed it: his father would play with his sons, his two pups, and entertain them with games of stalk-and-chase, letting them jump all over him, or let them wrestle with him, until their mother would bring them a big bowl of meat, and they'd fall asleep, full and contented, curled against their sire, listening to him croon and rumble lovingly to them.
As they'd gotten older, their father had started bringing books into the basement every full moon, and his growing pups would amuse themselves wrestling. Deakin had howled in protest, wanting to get outside, and feel the wind in his fur, and run-run-run, but his father had rumbled indulgently, explaining that it was important that he not go outside shapeshifted until he was old enough to understand that he must control himself, and make sure The Secret never got out. Their line could not control the shapeshift, but they could control their actions, and that was what he had to learn.
When both boys reached double figures in age, he did take them out for supervised excursions, and the growing pups could run and wrestle and play, whilst their sire kept watch to keep them safe. The two of them stumbled into the path of a couple of campers once: as their father had drilled into them, they immediately turned tail and ran back to him, but Deakin couldn't help feeling resentful about having to run away from a couple of humans.
As he grew, Deakin had chafed more against his father's authority, and he regularly ended up on the floor with his sire's teeth on his neck, while his brother had stood by and watched, ears drooped in a proper display of submission. Deakin's father was a magnificent specimen, just on seven feet tall, and a true pack Alpha. He tried to explain, on four legs and on two, how it was important to keep The Secret, because there were people, Hunters they were called, who would come after werewolves who went out and hurt anyone, they would come with silver, and they would Hunt werewolves down and kill them. When reasoning did not suffice, he pulled his pups into line with shows of dominance – nothing was more important to him than keeping his pack, his pups, safe.
As the Young matured and their father aged, it was Deakin's brother who took over as pack Alpha, and Deakin hoped that he might be allowed to go outside more often, but the new Alpha turned out to be just as cautious as their sire. His mother began to lock the door from the outside.
So, after a particularly nasty confrontation in which the brothers had nearly killed each other, Deakin had left, driven to a secluded place, and waited.
The first night he spent under the full moon on his own, he revelled in the feeling: he felt strong, and happy, and exhilarated. Drunk with the sense of his own strength and vitality, he had howled, and run for the sheer delight of stretching out his muscles, and letting his instincts run wild.
And then, he'd run into the hikers.
They'd frozen when he burst onto the track ahead of them. He knew he should turn around and run away, make people think that they'd imagined him – but the stench of their shock and fear had been intoxicating. Something deep within him growled that wolves did not run from puny prey, for any reason, and before he knew it, he was stalking, then chasing, then leaping, then killing, there was blood under his claws, and meat in his mouth, and he pulled out their hearts and devoured them, howling his bloodthirsty joy into the night, never wanting the moment to end.
He left his parents' den, then pulled together his own pack, telling a few friends, guys he'd been to school with, and drank with, and he'd shown them what he became, and what they could become too. They lived as he thought wolves should live, a nomadic existence, moving from one place to another as the whim took them, drinking and screwing their way across the states, and if they couldn't always scrounge enough to live on from their kills, well, breaking and entering was actually pretty easy for a seven-foot monster, and it was a hell of a lot more fun than holding down a job...
Not long now...
Deakin raised his eyes to the sky, and felt the itch of delicious anticipation under his skin.
"Not long now," chuckled Ryder, draining his beer and tossing the bottle into the trees.
"I know that," Deakin growled between his teeth, thinking that perhaps he should do something about Ryder. The guy was casually stupid in a way that made him a natural follower – as a drinking buddy he was amusing enough, but as a pack-mate, he wasn't always so enjoyable. It had been Ryder who had nearly got them caught out last full moon, enjoying his kill too much to pay attention to what was going on around him. Deakin lifted his gaze, and caught the eye of his pack's Second, Robbie. They exchanged a small smile of understanding. Somebody was going to have to put their teeth on Ryder's neck.
Candy slunk to his side, and leaned against him affectionately. "You are Alpha," she purred, handing him a beer, and he rumbled back. She might have been a hanger-on that he wouldn't ordinarily have looked at twice, but she had proved to be an asset to the pack – she killed without hesitation (if he was honest, it was her doing that had covered up Ryder's stupidity). And she had also turned out to be a pretty good fuck. Although he'd been thinking that it might be enjoyable to get a couple more females. Wolf packs had more than one female, didn't they? Couldn't he keep a, a hareem, or something?
Robbie rose to his feet, tossed his beer bottle away, and stalked to his Alpha's side, carefully giving off the signals to indicate that he had no intention of approaching his Alpha's female. Deakin smiled; his Second understood how it worked. Why couldn't the others just be like that?
"I guess about half a dozen," he murmured, nodding towards where the campsite held four tents.
"Women," noted Chase, lifting his nose to the breeze and grinning. "There's women." He turned a melodramatically sad face to Deakin. "If you don't want 'em, can I have one?"
"Who's to say I don't want them?" Candy bared her teeth.
"Yeah, but you just want 'em to kill 'em," complained Chase. "It would be good to have more females in the pack – Deakin, weren't you saying the other day that it would be..."
Candy rounded on Deakin, teeth bared. "Oh, would it just?" she hissed, letting out a snarl asserting her position as Alpha female.
"For the guys, Candy," Deakin said soothingly, "For the guys!" His eyes strayed to Chase's clueless face. Yeah, maybe his Second could help him with a bit of pack discipline tonight.
He turned away from his snarling female, and wondered whether a bit of assertion might be appropriate there, too.
They finished their beers, and were just shedding their clothing as casually as a human would take off a sweater when a happy bark of greeting echoed around the clearing. The packs' heads snapped around to look.
"Chase," Deakin growled angrily, "Why the fuck weren't you watching?"
"I was!" complained Chase, "I was! I didn't see nothin'!"
"You weren't using your nose, you moron!" snapped the irritated Alpha, although he understood why – the stranger had approached from downwind, giving them no opportunity to catch his scent.
His expression darkened as the intruder stepped out of the trees and into the clearing, as naked as his pack. He was clearly an Alpha from the way he carried himself with complete confidence – they were few and far between, but from time to time, they did find themselves straying into another pack's territory. "Hey there, folks," called the interloper, nodding towards the camp site. "They got powered sites down there, if you're planning on stayin'."
Deakin was about to snarl a challenge, but Robbie, the sensible Second, put a hand on his arm. "We're just passing through," he said, not deferential, but not provocative, either. "We have no quarrel with your pack. We seek no territory, we will not Den here. Tomorrow, we will be gone."
It was the required circuit-breaker: Deakin relaxed somewhat, and the stranger smiled in understanding.
"Ah," the new arrival ran a hand through his short dark blonde hair, "Just stopped for a bit of dinner?" The pack nodded, relieved, and Deakin threw a grateful look at his Second. It was always better to avoid a fight if possible, and Deakin never liked to get into a fight if he didn't think he could win easily – he had a feeling this guy could probably kick his ass.
And then, the Alpha male just had to go and turn his smile on Candy, and it cranked up a notch. She coquetted under the attention. "Well, aint you something else," the newcomer rumbled in come-hither amusement, scenting her interest. "Are you that... inviting on four legs?"
"If you stay here a little longer, you'll see," she chuckled back archly, slinking towards him.
"Candy, what the fuck!?" snapped Deakin. "Jesus, woman, if you had a tail, you'd be wagging it, you slut!"
She turned a disdainful look back to him. "He is Alpha," she drawled, approaching the stranger, "He is truly an Alpha." She gazed up at the stranger's handsome face, and sniffed deeply at him. "Does your pack Den here?" she asked.
"I am Alpha!" roared Deakin. The new guy burst out laughing.
"No, darlin', my pack don't Den anywhere near here," he announced sunnily. "But you won't either. And for the record, pal, you aint no Alpha. Oh, you might have set yourself up as one, but you aint. An Alpha would keep order in his pack. An Alpha would keep them safe – from themselves if necessary." His beautiful smile became predatory. "But you're right about one thing – you won't be here tomorrow."
Chase and Ryder moved uncertainly towards each other, looking to Deakin.
Deakin sneered. "I like it here," he said arrogantly, "Maybe I'll wanna stay here."
The stranger looked momentarily non-plussed. "Oh, er, sorry," he said sheepishly, "I should've explained that better. You will definitely be staying here, but you won't be alive. This is a secluded spot, and once you're all dead, I'll bury your carcasses here."
Deakin stared, open-mouthed, and then began to laugh. His pack joined in.
"Excuse me?" he chuckled condescendingly, "Did you just say we'll all be dead? Because from where I'm standing, you look like the guy on his own – if anybody's gonna be dead before sunrise," he stalked forward menacingly, "It's gonna be you, pal."
The stranger considered that. "Nah," he waved a hand dismissively, "My money aint on you. Although," he cocked his head thoughtfully, "Maybe I could just wait and see what your lady friend here does look like." She smiled back. "You can keep those two, though," he gestured at Ryder and Chase. "They're powerful ugly bitches you got there."
"I aint no bitch!" Ryder snapped, growling.
The stranger looked confused. "Well, you smell like one," he shrugged nonchalantly, "So, do you two argue about who gets to do it with your pal here? Or do you do each other while he watches, because hey, I understand that watchin' a couple of women go for it can be kinda hot..."
Ryder never had been particularly smart. With a savage snarl, he shot forward, intent on beating the grinning interloper to a pulp.
What happened next was something that Deakin had only ever heard about.
With a kind of shrug, the stranger suddenly shapeshifted. His pelt was brindled, and he was short, no taller than a female would be, but his build was massive. Casually, he drew back one long arm for a killing strike, and tore out Ryder's throat. He was human again and grinning infuriatingly before the body hit the ground, the head barely still attached by a small string of tissue.
"Oh, did I forget to mention my party trick?" he chirped brightly. "My den-dam taught me that. I got her control."
"And her height, you midget," Deakin spat, feeling the pull of the lunar light.
"Oh, she was shorter than me," the stranger chuckled, "But you should be glad she's not here. She'd have given you an earful before tearing your throat out. Actually, you'd probably tear your own throat out to get away from her. Seriously, she was totally cranky."
"Moonrise is here," Deakin's grinned back, gesturing to his pack to join him in tearing this rival apart, "And now, you're gonna die, midget."
"Weeeeell, I'm not exactly alone," the blonde man just grinned even more widely, "But my brother, well, he got his height and his control from our den-sire, so at the full moon, he's not real good at doin' the talking..."
From the side, another male wolf – another Alpha – came crashing out of the trees. This one had a dark glossy pelt, and towered taller than even Deakin's father had been at full height. At the darker male's side ran a dog, a large Rottweiler, with glowing red eyes.
"Deakin," breathed Robbie, sounding uncertain, "Deakin, he's... he's carrying a knife, dude, and I think I can smell silver..."
"That's another thing," the stranger announced, "A real Alpha wouldn't leave a trail of killings so clear that a couple of Hunters could follow it right to 'em. You're not an Alpha, pal – you're just a monster."
Deakin blinked; his eyes had been fixed on the teeth like a bear's jutting from the dog's jaw...
Then the shapeshift was upon him, and with it, rage.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Fighting, real life-or-death fighting, was as infrequent for Old North werewolves as it was for most species. Any sort of disagreement was usually settled by threat display amongst the individuals in question, and maybe a scuffle or two to test the strength of an adversary. Losing such a confrontation wasn't 'losing', as such; it was surviving, perhaps to fight another day, but definitely to go on living. No animal passed on its genes by dying.
When it did happen, it was usually very fast, very violent, and very bloody.
If anybody had been watching, they might have thought it was an unfair fight: the two interlopers and their dog against a pack of five, four of them males. Well, a pack of four, with three males, since one was already dead, but it was still two on one.
With a calculated economy of movement, the large brown Alpha took down Robbie with a single swish of the silver knife through the throat. Candy attacked viciously, no stranger to fighting and killing, but the stranger sank the silver blade into her gut, then dropped her body across one knee, snapping her neck.
The shorter, brindled wolf slapped Chase's blows aside, picked him up and threw him to the ground, then, as Deakin watched, horrified, sank his teeth into his pack-mate, and tore his head clean off.
The brindled male looked up, radiating malevolence, jaws dripping with Chase's blood, and snarled in triumph. I am Alpha!
Deakin tried to back up, but heard the growling of the dog behind him. He looked back, to see it behind him, eyes glowing furnace-red, bear-teeth brandished and ready to tear into him...
The brindled male stalked forward on all fours. You are Alpha? he rumbled in disdainful amusement. You are no Alpha. You kill, for amusement. You are a wrong-thing; you are prey.
With a whine, Deakin dropped to all fours, and flattened his ears.
The tall, brown-pelted male let out a humphing bark of annoyance. Hunting must be swift. The imprecation he shot at his brother was something that dams would say to young pups who were learning hunting skills, playing at adulthood: Don't play with your prey; kill it, and be done.
The brindled male paused to snap irritably. Do not interrupt, runt.
The brown male shrugged off the order. Do not delay, throwback.
I submit, whined Deakin, suddenly wishing that he'd paid attention to what his father had tried to teach him, I submit. You are Alpha.
You have killed many, snarled the brindle angrily, Did you give them the chance to submit?
Deakin found a spark of defiance of the sort he'd offered his father. They were just humans! he growled, They were prey! Our prey! We hunt; prey dies. That is the way of things.
The brindle panted in amusement. You don't know how right you are... He crouched, his face a bloodied mask, ready to spring. Deakin beheld his own death.
With speed born of desperation, Deakin shot to his feet, dodging the dog behind him, and ran on all fours for the trees. If he could just make it to the trees, he had a better chance of getting away.
The sudden searing burn in his haunch brought him down with a yipping cry; he turned to see the hilt of the knife projecting from his flesh. He cried like a frightened pup as the two other werewolves strode over to him.
We Hunt; prey dies, the brindle growled, pulling back one massive arm tipped with claws like sharpened gardening forks, This is the way of things...
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
The two remaining werewolves worked together to dig a large pit; the Rottweiler joined in, being the only one who seemed to enjoy digging. When it was large enough, they threw in the bodies of the feral pack.
The tall brown wolf barked an enquiry at his brother as the brindle stretched, yawned, shook vigorously, then shapeshifted back to human.
"Stupid to waste anythin' we can use," he shrugged as he began to rifle through the piles of clothes the feral pack had left. "Gimme a hand here."
The taller wolf let out a sheepish whine, and the man stood up.
"Oh, God, Sam, you gotta get this under control, bro," insisted Dean, taking hold of his brother's huge paws in his hands, "Come on, just like Ronnie's showed you, imagine your hands, your human hands."
The brown wolf whuffed a bit grumpily, but let out a long breath, and closed his eyes, relaxing, then concentrating. A minute or so later, he also resumed his human form.
"Attaboy, Sammy!" praised Dean, "Now, you do those over there."
"You enjoyed that way too much," griped Sam, going through pockets.
"Nothin' wrong with a guy enjoyin' his job," Dean replied breezily, pulling a wad of cash out of a wallet. "Don't tell me you don't get any sort of gratification for taking fuglies out of circulation."
Sam's dimpled smile showed that Dean had scored a point. "Well, maybe just a bit."
"Nice throw," Dean added, tossing the rifled clothes into the pit, "Good distance."
"You know, if you'd practice your grip a bit more, you carry things, too," Sam pressed.
"Nah," Dean grinned, using the discarded clothing to wipe the blood off himself. "Who needs to carry a weapon when you're built as awesomely as me?"
"I wasn't thinking knife, necessarily," Sam qualified. "Stepladder, maybe."
Runt.
Throwback.
Dean instructed Sam to keep practising staying human under the full moon, then he shapeshifted and, with Jimi's enthusiastic help, shovelled the soil back to fill in the pit. Once human again, he dusted off his hands.
"Job done," he grunted in satisfaction. "So, what now? Bar, booze, bedding babes?"
"You are a simple creature," Sam rolled his eyes, and looked up to the moon. There were occasional wisps of cloud scudding across the sky, but otherwise it was a clear, cool night. He drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the earth, the feel of the soil under his feet, and the singing of the wolf's blood in his ears.
Jimi picked up on his Second's musings. Our pack is strong and happy! he yapped, darting in to nip at Sam's heels, Play! Play!
"Jesus, Jimi, don't encourage him," Dean shook his head with a rueful smile, "He needs to practise bein' human."
Sam turned the puppy dog eyes onto his brother, then shrugged to shapeshift back to his wolf form. Play? He barked cheekily, reaching out to cuff his brother gently.
"Hmmmm, I dunno," Dean frowned thoughtfully, "I'd hate to do anything to hurt you, Francis, and we know what a delicate little pup you are."
Sam grunted in amusement, and flipped Dean off.
"Ohhhh, that does it mister," chuckled Dean, "I am so gonna put my teeth on your neck."
Sam blew a raspberry at his brother, and deliberately turned his back.
With a shrug, Dean resumed his wolf form, and pounced at his brother. Look out, you great big bitch, here I come!
They grappled and rolled, sparring and trash-talking, as Jimi danced back and forth in delight, barking encouragement to both of them.
Sam shrugged off his brother, and stood up. Can't catch me! he yipped. Not with legs that short. He blew another raspberry, turned, and bounded away into the trees.
With a howl of sheer happiness, Dean shot after him, Jimi racing at his heels. There would be plenty of nights for drinking and screwing, but one thing that his den-dam had taught him was the enjoyment to be had by being with his pack, in the moment. He looked up to the stars, and thought that maybe she would have been proud of him. Of both of them. Hell, he smiled to himself, he knew she would be.
Pups left the den – but they never left their pack.
We are strong, and happy! he howled as he bounded away in pursuit of his brother. And your ass is mine, bitch!
So, this story is finally finally done. Yay! I'll see if the RJ-&-Frankie-rescue-their-dads one will speak up a bit – but until then, send reviews, because Reviews are the Unexpected Naked* Winchester Of Your Choice Strolling Out Of The Trees!** (You depraved individuals).
*Not actually naked, just with no clothes on.
**If Winchesters with no clothes on don't appeal, you may join me over there where Reviews are the Shenanigans With An Adorable Rottweiler, And Chocolate Brownies, In The Backyard Of Life.