Disclaimer: I do not claim to have any rights over the Supernatural television series, nor the song included at the end, Still Unbroken by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The song and the series inspired the story.

Still Unbroken

The air smelled heavy and rank, the tide leaving the mud banks exposed and the scent of decay thick on the night breeze.

On the other side of the river, they could see the city lights, but here, in the vast empty docklands, surrounded by huge buildings and the silent, still skeletons of massive machinery, there were no lights.

To the east the moon was rising, full and round, her ranges and mares showing clearly. The brilliant moonlight and the dark shadows created a stark chiaroscuro across the industrial wasteland, a surreal landscape of black and white.

The ululating howl rose into the night, sending a shiver down their spines. Away from the mountains and forests, in the depths of this urban wilderness, the wolf-music was chilling, unnatural; a warning to stay away, for here be monsters.

Dean looked across to Sam, crouched in the deepest shadows behind the container.

"Well, at least we know we're in the right place."

Sam nodded, popping out the magazine of the stainless 9mm semi he carried and checking again the silver bullets that filled it. He pushed it in, slamming it home and racking the slide.

"These buildings are going to be hell for locating it. The sound is bouncing around all over the place." Sam said in a low voice, looking around them.

"Yeah, well, you can't have everything. Let's go." Dean straightened against the wall, keeping within the dark shadows as he moved along the side of the container. Sam moved sideways behind Dean, half turned to keep watch on their back trail.

The howl rose again, stronger, closer and Dean paused at the edge of the container, waiting. A second howl sounded, to the south of them, rising and blending with the first until the sound seemed to be coming from every direction.

"Oh, that's just great." Dean said, his voice low, edged with tension. Sam said nothing, his attention focussed tightly on the darkness around them.

Dean moved out from the corner, his boot soles silent over the concrete paving, his gun out and ready. With two of them, there would be no advantages for him and Sam, this would take all of their skills; all of their hard-learned knowledge, their speed, wits and strength.

They crossed the silver-lit space between the containers at a run, reaching the darkness on the other side with relief. Dean waited, listening for any sound that might give them a lead on where their quarry was.

"We're going to have split up, Dean." Sam breathed against his ear.

Dean shook his head. "No, if they're together and find one of us alone, their advantages are too great. We stick together for this, Sam."

The creatures they faced had far too many advantages already, Dean thought to himself sourly. Their hearing was better; their sense of smell, their ability to see in the dark, their speed, their invulnerability to wounding shots … the list went on. He was pretty sure that they already knew they were being hunted, were triangulating the hunters.

It was a tiny noise, an insignificant noise, which saved them from the first attack. The click of a claw on metal. Just one, but Dean heard it.

"Sam, down!" He thrust his brother away, and broke in the opposite direction, diving away and rolling to get some distance, as the werewolf landed where they'd been.

The Colt fired twice, the muzzle flash blinding Dean. There was a roar of pain from the creature, as it swung around, its attention diverted from the nearer hunter to the further one.

Dean put his hand on the ground and sprang to his feet, staying low, backing fast towards the machine behind him, something solid to put his back against. He couldn't see Sam or the werewolf as he passed out of the shadows and into the moon's bright light.

The werewolf bounded towards him, its lambent eyes intent on him. He could smell it now; the rank smell of the predator. He felt the monstrous tyre behind him and slammed his back against it, shifting his grip on the gun, firing as soon as the sight came into line with the creature.

The first bullet hit, he was sure of it, but the werewolf had ducked away, disappearing into the shadows beside a container as he continued.

Back the way they'd come, there was volley of gunshots, echoing off the metal containers, the metal-sided buildings. He heard a rising scream. Without thought, or caution, he ran towards the sound, across the moonlit open space, through the deep darkness beside the building, running flat out.

He barely felt the rake of claws across his shoulder and chest; he was knocked sideways into the building before the blood had begun to flow. His head slammed into the siding, not the frame, and he bounced back to the concrete paving. Rolling over, back into the shadow, Dean felt the warmth of his blood flowing over his skin, the copper tang filling his nostrils as he backed up to the wall, and inched himself up it, using it to support himself. He looked around warily, slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness as he searched for the slightest hint of movement.

Silence filled his ears. Aside from the soft rasp of his own breath, he could hear nothing.

The wolf's rising howl echoed between the buildings. Dean turned to the sound, pushing himself off the wall and gritting his teeth against the fresh pain from the movement. He forced his body to move silently, swiftly, along the wall towards the sound. He saw the werewolf, crouched on the top of the flat roof, as he came around the corner, head lifted to the clear, round moon. Without pause, he aimed and gently squeezed the trigger, and the single shot rang out as the creature's body toppled over.

Got you, sonofabitch, he thought to himself, looking down for the first time to see the damage that it had done. The wounds were deep, through the flesh, shallow over his ribs. The blood had soaked through his shirt and half his jacket, and was still flowing, although more sluggishly now.

Come on, Sam, give me a sign. He looked around the corner of the building, gauging the distance across the clear moonlit bay to the next building and its shielding shadows.

His vision grayed slightly at the edges. He leaned back against the shadowed wall behind the corner and breathed deeply. Sam was out there, injured, most likely. But maybe he'd got the other one when it had attacked.

Or maybe it had gotten him. Dean tried to drive the thought away, but it persisted. He was alone, maybe for good this time. Everyone else had left. Taking death's door, or just going. His eyelids drooped, and visions of the people he'd loved, people he cared about played against the darkness of his closed eyes. Desolation rose and for a moment, he let it in, let it fill him, believing the worst, accepting it.

"No." The word came out in a whisper. "That's not true. Sam's alive."

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He slammed his hand against the wound in his shoulder, gasping as the pain lit him up, wiping his thoughts and feelings into nothingness. When the pain had died down to mere white-hot agony, he opened his eyes. No time like the present, he thought tiredly and slid around the corner, running fast to the other side.

He'd barely made the shadows when he heard the second werewolf. The deep growl rose sharply as it found its hunting partner, dropping off to a frenzied snarl. Must have killed it, thought Dean; that sounds like one pissed off werewolf.

He kept his back to the cinderblock wall of the building, watching now ahead, now behind him. He reached the other end and looked into a wide truck bay, silver and black, surrounded on three sides.

Sam lay in the centre, his arm flung out to one side, his gun a few feet beyond his hand. Dean prayed that the darkness under his body was just shadow, not blood.

Fuck this, he closed his eyes and set his teeth, then strode out into the moonlight.

"Well where are you? Here I am, in the open and ready to kill."

He pivoted on his heel as he kept walking towards Sam, watching the shadows, the rooflines, the darker entrances between the containers and the buildings. He reached Sam and glanced down quickly. The wounds on his brother took his breath, sapped his strength; long gashes, deep gashes over his chest and face, his clothes shredded where the claws had ripped through them. He barely heard the creature's approach as he took in the extent of the damage.

It leapt at him from a distance of ten feet, and as Dean turned his head, he watched it coming as if it were moving in slow motion.

He could see the golden eyes, lit from within, the pupils slits; the snout, longer than the human face but not as long as a true canine's; the skin wrinkled back as it bared long and bloody fangs. The hair covering it was somewhere between a real wolf's pelt and long human hair, tangled and thick. Its claws were nothing like a wolf's however, they curved out like scimitars, thick and razor sharp. The limbs had been malformed, the long bones of the hand transforming to the wolf's wrist equivalent, the human wrists become wolf knees, the forearms lengthened, the humerus shortened, the shoulder socket becoming the elbow, the scapula lengthened to form the shoulder socket to the spine.

Dean raised his gun, feeling as if he had all the time in the world. He aimed for the centre of the chest that was coming towards him and gently squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked slowly, not much, and the werewolf's forward motion ceased. He fired twice more as it hit the ground and slid the remaining distance to thump against the toes of his boots.

He turned away, dropping to his knees next to Sam. Pulling off his jacket, he unbuttoned the shirt he wore beneath and yanked it off, ripping off the sleeves then the panels to make rough dressings and pads to stop the bleeding. He barely noticed his own wounds. When the bleeding had slowed, he bound up the worst wound, the one on Sam's chest, and used his jacket to cushion Sam's head. He got up and walked to Sam's gun, picking it up and flicking on the safety before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. He returned to Sam, kneeling beside him again, and looking down at him.

"Don't you even think about leaving, Sammy." He whispered. "We've got a long road to go before you can think of that."

He was loathe to leave Sam there, in the open, but he if carried him, he risked opening the wounds again and Sam bleeding out. He needed the car. He hesitated, vacillating over the safest course of action.

Sam's light, shallow breathing finally got him moving. He ran, flat out, to where the car was parked, on the outside of the chain link boundary fence, and drove back, through the fence; the Impala's wide tyres squealing on the concrete surface as he made the tight corners.

When he reached Sam, he lifted his shoulders, putting Sam's less injured arm over his own shoulder and struggling to his feet. Damned gigantor kid, he thought, panting with the effort of supporting Sam's greater bulk and weight. He half-lifted, half-dragged his brother to the car, and eased him along the back seat, momentarily non-plussed when he looked down to see Sam's legs protruding at least two feet from the door. He reached in and bent Sam's knees, pushing his feet in firmly and slamming the rear door shut.

He leaned against her side as he drew in lungful after lungful of cold night air. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it pounding against the skin of his neck, the skin of his wrists. He closed his eyes as his vision darkened, and tried to will his body to keep on going. After a few minutes, it worked. His breathing eased, and his heart slowed. He opened his eyes and the darkness had retreated; the world was still black and silver under the moon, but it remained steady and real.

Moving slowly around the front of the car, he opened the driver's side door and slumped inside, his feet moving automatically to brake and clutch. He leaned his head back against the seat for a moment, then sat up and turned the key, grateful as always for the rumble as the engine started, the solid deep bass of her engine song palpable through the chassis and seat frame. He put her into gear and drove slowly back out of the dockyards, heading for the bridge that would take him back across the river, to the world of light and people, a hospital and rest.

Broken bones, broken hearts

Stripped down and torn apart

A little bit of rust - I'm still runnin'

Countin' miles, countin' tears

Twisted roads, shiftin' gears

Year after year - it's all or nothin'

But I'm not home; I'm not lost, still holdin' on to what I got

Ain't much left

No there's so much that's been stolen

I guess I've lost everything I've had

But I'm not dead, at least not yet

Still alone, still alive,

I'm still unbroken

I'm still alone, still alive, I'm still unbroken.

Never captured, never tamed

Wild horses on the plains

You can call me lost - I call it freedom

I feel the spirit in my soul

It's something Lord I can't control

I'm never givin' up while I'm still breathin'!

I'm not home, I'm not lost, still holdin' on to what I got

Ain't much left

Lord there's so much that's been stolen

I guess I've lost everything I've had

I'm not dead, at least not yet

Still alone, still alive,still unbroken

I'm still alone, still alive,

Still unbroken

I'm still unbroken

Still unbroken

Like the wind, like the rain

It's all runnin' through my veins

Like a river pouring down into the ocean

I'm out here on the streets

But I'm standing on my feet

Still alive, still alone, still unbroken

I'm not home; I'm not lost, still holdin' on to what I got

Ain't much left - Lord there's so much that's been stolen

Guess I've lost everything I've had

But I'm not dead, at least not yet

Still alive, still alone,

Still unbroken

I'm still alone, still alive,

I'm still unbroken

As soon as I heard this song, I thought of Dean. If ever there was a song for that character, this is it.