Title: Silver Moon, Blood and Bone
Disclaimer:I do not own Supernatural, all characters and recognisable content belongs to Eric Kripke. I do not make any money for this fictional writing.
Warning: Violence, Language, Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean, Protective!John
Dean doesn't like staying in one place too long. It reminds him of the one time, the only time, they had stayed in one town for half a year. And he'd rather not think of that time eight years ago, when he had almost lost his baby Sammy.
Sam is fourteen, Dean eighteen.
Silver Moon, Blood and Bone
Dean rolled his eyes as his baby brother, Sam, whinged again at being left behind on the hunt. Dean rechecked he had everything he needed, this was a good, old fashioned, werewolf hunt and Dean was hyped.
This would be his first ever werewolf hunt and he and his Father, John, had been hunting this thing now for two months with no success, this was their third full moon hunting this werewolf and before tonight, Dean had only ever seen pictures and heard stories and he agreed one hundred percent with his Father. Sammy was to stay behind, this hunt was far too dangerous, especially after the last hunt when Sam had gotten hurt by a particularly vengeful spirit that had latched onto the youngest Winchester. Sammy's head was still bandaged up for Christ's sake.
"No Sam!" John bit out shortly. "You stay in the motel, you don't leave for any reason. You got that?"
"Yes Sir." Sam replied petulantly, crossing his arms and pouting.
Dean rolled his eyes again. It was hard to think of Sam as a teenager, he was just so sweet and adorable, not that Dean would ever say that out loud and especially not within hearing distance of Sam.
"Good boy. Now me and Dean will be back by sun up. You do not open the door, you do not answer the phone…"
"Unless it rings once and then you'll ring again." Sam reiterated, sounding weary.
"Don't break the salt lines and keep the .45 under your pillow." John finished, taking one last look at Sam before leaving the motel.
"Look after yourself Sammy, try to get some sleep and don't worry so much." Dean added, following their Father.
Sam waved them off and Dean and John waited long enough to see the lock on the door twist, proving that Sammy had locked himself in. The Impala tore out of the parking lot as dusk fell and Dean started getting jittery, he couldn't believe it, his first werewolf hunt and this thing was definitely here this time!
"Calm yourself Dean." John cautioned, but there was a smile on his lips and a knowing glint in his eyes. "You know, I felt the same as you on my first werewolf hunt. Filled up with adrenaline, too hyped to think of anything else, I was damn near bouncing off the wall by the time the sun set."
John smiled at that memory before sending a side long glance to his grinning son, who's knee only seemed to bounce even more erratically. He chuckled lightly and sped up even more, causing Dean's adrenaline rush to go near overboard. He was so fucking hyped for this hunt!
Sam sighed and pulled his book closer, it was about eleven at night and he was so worried. He had never been good at being left on his own, he was worried and nervous and ashamed of how he felt. He run his fingers over the gun that he had shoved down the waistband of his jeans, reassuring himself it was still there.
He shakily picked up his book again and tried to read the words, but his eyes were blurring with strain. He never did find out why he always felt like this when his Father and Dean left him on his own, he just always had. Truth be told it had only been a few times he had actually had to stay on his own, but all five of those times he had been scared shitless until his Dad or Dean had come home. But of course he always broke down like a little baby when they got back and begged them not to leave him on his own again and they didn't, Dean either stayed with him or he was allowed to go on the hunt, at least for the next few months and a hunt popped up that was too dangerous for him to go on and was too dangerous for just one man.
This was one such hunt, his Dad had been worried and fretting about Dean going on the werewolf hunt, but to actually suggest that he go along as well? John Winchester would probably have had a heart attack.
Sam smiled slightly at the thought of his strong, proud, invincible Father succumbing to death by a heart attack of all things. It was such a…a normal thing to die from, a heart attack. No Sam knew his Father would have wanted to go out all guns blazing, taking down as many evil creatures with him as possible. A true hero's death.
It was hard not to think about death with everything Sam had seen. He knew his Dad and Dean tried to shelter him, protect his innocence from the dark and deadly things in the world, but at the same time they knew, they knew that if they sheltered him too much, when it came to defending himself, he could die. Die at the very hands of the things they were trying to protect him from. It was a double edged sword, one that they were trying to guide Sam down straight, but every now and then he would slip to one side of the blade, something would happen and another piece of his innocence would shatter or he would get another injury due to negligence and ignorance.
A loud noise outside of the motel room had Sam scrambling for his gun, he quivered as he wormed his way down his bed and cuddled into the corner of it, where the side and head of the bed met the walls. He aimed the gun shakily at the door, pressing himself further into the wall, his gun cocked and loaded and he just waited as silently as he could, his ears straining for the slightest sound.
Dean was alert as he quickly scoped out the area, his gun held securely and steady in his large hands. He pressed his back to the dirty wall of the alleyway, his gun pointing to the air at head height.
He could hear scratching and snuffling coming from the alleyway he was at the mouth of, his heart pumped seven times its normal rate, the adrenaline had to have saturated his blood by now with the amount of the hormone he was producing. The eighteen year old breathed in deeply a few times to try and calm his racing heart and unsteady breaths. He hadn't even been this excited the first time he had had sex with what's-her-name from where's-that-place. He had been about Sammy's age, he shook his head now.
He couldn't believe the differences between him and Sam. He couldn't even entertain the notion of Sammy losing his virginity anytime soon. He was just too sweet and gentle, though the little bastard was growing like a weed. He was four years younger and reached just below his shoulder in height, if Sammy kept on growing he would end up taller than him, and that was just so not allowed to happen.
Chastising himself and getting his head back in the game and back on the hunt, Dean waited. The low growling reached his ears and he slipped around the corner of the alley to come face to face with his first werewolf. As far as first impressions went, the werewolf scored an epic fail.
It wasn't covered in fur, with a massive snout, canine ears and glowing yellow eyes like in the movies, it was just, just a person. A mega fugly person at that with greyish skin, massive claws and even bigger teeth.
It looked up at him from where it had been feasting on a body, a body Dean had no doubt had been living an hour or so earlier. He set his jaw and fired his gun, lodging a silver bullet into that fucker's heart just as it leapt towards him.
Dean lowered the gun and just breathed, a grin became plastered on his face as he realised that he had just taken down his first ever werewolf.
His Father came running around the corner, his gun raised and ready to shoot, but all he saw was two dead bodies and his son looking so damned proud of himself it almost made him laugh.
"I got it Dad!" Dean told him smugly. "Right in the heart, just like you told me."
"That's my boy." John exclaimed, clapping Dean's shoulder and squeezing it before pulling on the shoulder to initiate a light hug. His son deserved the pride and the reassurance. He had done well, excellent even, John always knew Dean was cut out for this job, it was his baby Sammy he worried for. Thinking of Sammy, he wanted to get back to that motel and quickly. Sam had always hated being left on his own and John hated the teary eyes, the relief and the happiness he saw in Sam's hazel eyes when he and Dean got back from a hunt.
He still remembered the last time he had had to leave Sammy on his own, him and Dean had been gone for…perhaps just over four hours. They had came back to Sammy sitting in the corner of the room, knees to his chin, one arm wrapped around his legs, tear tracks down his face and a loaded gun aimed at them. Once he had seen who had come into the room, Sam had thrown the gun from himself, launched to his feet and right into John's arms. He had fallen asleep like that, held securely in John's arms and he hadn't let go through out the night. He hadn't let Sam out of his sight for nearly a month after that incident and that had been eleven months back.
He looked at his slightly beaten wristwatch, it was a quarter after three in the morning. This would have been the longest he had ever left Sammy on his own, seven hours was too long. He had a burning need to get back to his youngest son. It seemed Dean shared his worry as he was looking at his own wristwatch, bottom lip trapped between white, even teeth and worry lines on his forehead.
They caught each other's eye and then the need to get to Sammy was almost overwhelming. They made a dash for the Impala and took off back to the motel at illegal speeds. Dean ringing the motel room feverishly, disconnecting the call before dialling again and letting it ring. Sam did not pick up.
"May…maybe he's sleeping." Dean tried tentatively, trying desperately to believe his words, though deep down, they both knew Sam wouldn't have slept this night.
John put his foot down hard against the accelerator, going well over the speed limit and not caring one iota. His only thought was to get to his precious baby Sammy.
Sam did not relax his tense posture, he couldn't breathe through the constriction in his chest. The noise had gone away perhaps half an hour ago, but he couldn't stop his heart from racing. He felt like such a baby, this was why his Dad took Dean on hunts and not him. He was pathetic, a disgrace, a disappointment to the Winchester name.
A loud thumping from the exact wall he was curled up against had Sam whimpering and scampering from the bed, rushing to the other side of the room, his gun clenched tightly in his hand, which seemed too small to hold such a large and bulky gun. It was still cocked, but now aimed at the thin, plasterboard wall. Tears fell down his cheeks again as a low scratching noise came from the same wall. Like a dog scratching to get in.
Sam bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. The scratching stopped for perhaps half a minute and a loud snuffling noise was heard by Sam's strained ears. He bit his lips harder to try and stop himself from making any noise, but a small, pathetic whimper slipped through and a single tear forced it's way past the barricade his eyelashes had made. It slid down his already wet cheek as the scratching started up again. A sudden thud had Sam flinching in reflex, his heart jumping before resuming it's racing pace, his breath coming out of his mouth in short pants as his eyes darted everywhere in fear.
All noise stopped and Sam felt himself twitching, wondering where the thing from outside was going to show up next, he felt as if it was toying with him, playing with his fear and feeding from it.
A loud scraping noise across glass had Sam staring wide-eyed at the window, he had forgotten to draw the curtains and there, framed against the glass, was the most fearsome thing he had ever seen. Greyish skin, crazed blue eyes, wild red hair, a snarling, dagger filled, blood covered mouth and blood encrusted hands pressed against the window, lethal looking claws gouging at the single pane of glass.
He thought about what his Dad or Dean would do in his position, but he knew they would have already had the werewolf outside dead by now. Sam wasn't brave enough to even stand up let alone get up, open the door, cross the protective salt barrier and aim a gun at the deadly werewolf and shoot it in the heart. He didn't have silver bullets anyway, just buckshot and that wouldn't even slow a werewolf down.
Panic settled in, if the werewolf got in, Sam was as good as dead. Salt wouldn't stop it from getting in, he didn't have silver bullets, silver anything…no…wait he did! The hunting dagger he had saved up for five solid years to buy for Dean for his nineteenth birthday next month! It was made from solid silver!
Crying in relief, Sam crawled slowly, but jittery, across the floor, listening with all of his might for a noise, any noise that would alert him to where the werewolf was as it had disappeared from the window.
His movements were jerky and uncoordinated with fear, adrenaline had kicked in, making him feel sick and weak. A thud against the wall had Sam jumping in fear and shaking so hard his hands and knees could hardly support his weight.
He reached under the bed for his backpack, he ripped it out and opened it, his hands quivering as he haphazardly threw his clothing and possessions from his duffel before he pulled out the box he hadn't yet wrapped in paper and opened it, taking out the gleaming, intricate knife. Sam had designed it himself with Bobby Singer's help. It was beautiful, the man who had made it for him had said so, Bobby had said so and Sam thought so.
The elegant bar hilt was a deep blue colour, the same colour as the ocean at it's deepest part during mid day. Sam had been to the beach once, for his sixth birthday, it had been so special to him he still remembered it. There was a single pentagram carved in the centre of the hilt. The blade of the knife was highly polished, gleaming, solid silver with protective runes and symbols engraved around the outside of it making it look like something from a cult film, but anything that could keep his big brother just a little bit safer made Sam feel happier. There was nothing but smooth silver on the middle part of the blade, except for two curly, cursive letters; D.W. Dean Winchester.
The larger than average dagger was Celtic in design and Sam had sacrificed everything he had ever had to get it for Dean, but now he was going to tarnish Dean's present with werewolf blood. He felt sick to his stomach and not all because of the fear pooling there.
The loudest thud of the night ripped through the motel room and Sam clenched his hands around the knife, which once again seemed too big and bulky in his small hands, though he knew it would fit perfectly in his big brother's, Dean's hands just seemed to be made to hold weapons.
Sam froze as the motel door splintered right down the middle as the werewolf threw itself at the flimsy wood. He whimpered and couldn't stop the hysterical sobbing. He didn't go on the more dangerous hunts for a reason! He couldn't handle it, the pressure, the cutthroat action, the emotions that ripped through him, the fear and the panic. He was a good shot, but not a brilliant one and he was even worse with blades and hand-to-hand combat.
Hiccupping, Sam mentally slapped himself, he needed to snap out of it, if he wanted to make it out of this situation alive, he had to think. He wasn't arrogant or cocky like Dean, but he knew he was the more intelligent out of the both of them. He passed all of his tests and essays with top marks and he had a common sense that his Dad said would keep him alive and come in handy one day. Well that day had better be today! Sam thought hysterically, his trembling limbs folding under his weight as he was too frightened to control his panicked hyperventilating, his strained body becoming starved of oxygen.
The werewolf stopped slamming into the door after it split under the pressure. Sam wondered why, it was obviously strong enough to get in to the motel room, why did it have to torture him by backing off?
It happened so suddenly Sam didn't know what had happened. One minute he was straining his ears to hear the werewolf, staring almost unblinkingly at the splintered door, the next second the window shattered, sending shards of glass and chunks of window frame in every which direction and Sam was nose to nose with an actual werewolf for the first time in his young life.
It seemed even more bloodied than he had last seen it pressed up against the very same window it had just ripped through. It still looked just as ferocious though and it spared no time gawping at him like Sam was doing to it. The crazed and wild thing rushed him and Sam hardly had enough time to duck out of the way, though not without injuries. He felt the already bloodied claws rip into his skin and he gasped in pain, holding in the scream by the skin of his teeth.
The werewolf, who was now identified as a male by the naked body, did not stop to even turn around fully before launching at Sam again, taking another half a dozen swipes, all of them hitting and carving out clumps of flesh, his blood spurted everywhere and Sam felt dazed and disorientated. He couldn't get his bearings back before the werewolf struck again. The pain was excruciating and he had dropped both the knife and the gun after the initial attack, like some pathetic loser. God Dean and his Dad would be so ashamed of him.
Nearly all of the attacks were centred around his chest and Sam realised with some horror that werewolves ate human hearts. The werewolf was trying to tear out his heart! The aforementioned organ sputtered before speeding up and beating at a rate that was previously thought to be impossible by the youngest Winchester.
Things were moving too fast, everything was blurred! The knife was lost in the chaos and disarray the werewolf was putting the room in, blood was everywhere! The room was painted in his blood, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the furniture and counters, everything in the room was splattered with his blood. There was too much of it, the pain was sinking in as the adrenaline rush ran out and he was becoming sluggish and lethargic, but he kept getting flashes of his Dad and Dean's faces. He had to keep fighting, he needed to stay alive for them. They wouldn't give up like wusses, they wouldn't be crawling around the floor like a retard or let themselves be flung about the motel room like some pathetic rag doll. He had let himself become a werewolf's chew toy!
Finding his breathing becoming shallower and fainter, Sam tried not to panic as it became increasingly hard to breathe. He heard the phone ring, cut off, then ring again. It was his Dad. Oh god please let them be on their way back! Sam thought desperately as he was flung into a wall so hard the plaster dented and crumbled, plaster dust covering him making him look like some weird bloodied snowman. Surely someone had heard the ruckus? That they had called the police? Something to save him from having his heart torn out through his throat!
He slumped down against the wall, seeing the red haired man wolf approach him threateningly. He couldn't do more than blink away the tears and blood in his eyes. One of his arms was broken, both of his legs felt broken and one looked definitely broken, the bone was sticking out of his blood stained skin, his pyjama trousers in tatters, looking at it he felt bile raise in his throat, but he swallowed it back down.
Choking on the blood that bubbled up and over his lips, Sam knew he was going to die. The werewolf was done toying with him, was done playing with his food, it was stalking him, moving in for the kill and nothing was going to save him. His ignorance and lack of experience was finally going to kill him.
The werewolf towered over him and Sam's breath got stuck in his throat, how did it get this bad? Why had the werewolf come here? Why here? Why tonight? Why when he had been left all on his own? Why him?
So many questions and no time to answer them. Sam screwed his eyes shut and curled up into a tight ball, despite the pain it caused him. A stabbing pain in his left knee had him ripping his eyes open and hardly daring to believe the glint of silver sticking out of the mass of disordered mess. The werewolf lunged exactly at the same time Sam swung the knife around, it sliced through the greying skin in the werewolf's chest, the wound was long, but shallow, a flesh wound, superficial, but the silver seemed to react like a poison or acid, causing the werewolf to let out an ear splitting, inhuman, scream and swipe at Sam before the youngest Winchester brought the dagger down into the top of the werewolf's thigh. There was a slight pause where the werewolf didn't move or make a sound, before it lunged at Sam and flung him into something which tipped and the severely wounded fourteen year old knew nothing more, his mind slipping quickly into darkness as the werewolf took off running into the night in agonising pain from the silver poisoning, but it's pain was not nearly as excruciating as the dying victim he left behind in the dead of night with the wailing of sirens in the background.
John drove like a mad man, Dean still couldn't get a hold of Sammy and he had a feeling in his gut, a very bad feeling that was telling him that something was seriously wrong, that something didn't add up.
That werewolf his Dean had shot had been young and inexperienced, more than likely it's second or third full moon, so that left the question of where the werewolf that had turned it was. Damn it he had known that the body count had been too high for just one werewolf, but not high enough for him to suspect two! It had been a mature, experienced werewolf and a fucking newly turned one! There had been two fucking werewolves and him and Dean had taken all of the silver bullets with them!
Pushing the Impala to it's limits, John skidded onto the street where the motel was…to find it crawling with police and ambulances. His heart dropping, John hardly waited to rip the keys from the ignition before leaping out and following Dean's head through the parking lot.
"Sorry Sirs, please stay back, there's been a terrible accident." One cop told them, barricading their way.
John held Dean tightly by the upper arm, knowing nothing was going to stop his boy from reaching Sammy. It was with a tight heart and a non-existent stomach that John noticed that it was the motel room he had booked that had been cordoned off.
"My son! My son was in that room!" John told the officer desperately.
The officer looked horrified and John didn't even wait for the man to get his breath back, he strode over to the room and almost gagged. The room was a disaster zone, completely covered in blood, his precious baby Sammy's blood.
"Sir, you do not have authorization to be here! We are conducting a thorough search!" A different officer told him sternly, like he was some sort of sight seeing tourist.
"My son! My Sammy was here! This was our room!" John told him, a hysterical gleam in his eye as he barged past, leaving Dean rooted to the spot in the doorway.
"We have not yet found a body." The officer told him a bit more gently. "It looks like an animal attack, a vicious and famished one at that."
John snarled at the man and just looked at the mess around the room, looking for any sign of his baby boy.
"Sammy!" He yelled. "Sammy? Let me know if you can hear me kiddo! Please, I'm begging you Sammy."
John pleaded quietly at the end, he sounded weak and he knew it, but he just didn't care. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his boys, nothing. To know that one of them had been attacked by a werewolf, he wasn't even sure there was enough of Sammy to be found! He felt sick and crazed. His Sam couldn't be dead, couldn't be gone, he just couldn't be. The last thing Mary had ever given him, his precious baby Sam.
"SAMMY! SAMMY ANSWER ME!"
There was silence, nothing but silence and John wanted to break down and cry for the first time since he had lost Mary. He had lost his beloved Wife and now he had lost a beloved son. He had failed, failed spectacularly. Whilst trying to save his youngest son he had actually condemned him to death, a lonely, terror filled, painful death.
"Da…Daddy?" Came a muffled, half choked, very breathless voice and John picked his head up and stared at the over turned sofa, not daring to hope to believe his baby could be alive with so much of his blood painting the walls.
He rushed to the fallen furniture and gripped the end of the sofa, an officer grabbing the other and they flipped it over to reveal a bloodied mass of torn flesh and revealed bones.
Oh god his baby, his precious little son. He looked like he had been trapped in a blender and left on pureed. The officer dropped the end of the sofa he was holding and ran from the room with a hand over his mouth. John just sank to the floor and let his hands hover over his Sam. He heard Dean yelling for an ambulance, but ignored it, he couldn't even touch his son for fear of hurting him even more, he looked so fragile and vulnerable, laying on the floor which was pooled with his blood, torn to shreds and so pale and cold. His son was dying! That fucking werewolf had tried to kill his son! He was going to hunt that motherfucker down and skin it with his bare hands.
The medics came in and John refused to move, making them work around him. He just couldn't bring himself to leave Sam's side, not even when his son slipped back into unconsciousness.
Sam was quickly stabilised as much as possible and loaded onto a body board and shoved into the back of an ambulance, John and Dean clambered into the back and just looked at Sam. It was horrific, it was like they had walked into something from a horror movie. Only this was real life and it was their Sam.
Werewolves didn't cause this much damage, nor did they leave their victim intact. They went for their food source, the human heart. Then they left leaving behind a heartless body. That werewolf had fucking played with his Sammy, had thrown him around like a toy, destroyed his precious, innocent child.
John and Dean were forced to remain behind in the waiting room, pacing restlessly and waiting for any word on Sammy.
The waiting was awful, it was tedious and monotonous, yet so much rode upon time. Had they reached Sammy in time, how long had he been facing off against the werewolf? How long had he been under the sofa, bleeding and broken? How long had the emergency services been there before John and Dean had gotten there. Too many questions and absolutely no answers.
Day was dawning and John clutched Dean to himself, adamant that he was not losing another son. It was testimony to how messed up Dean was mentally that he didn't try to pull away from the hold.
Twenty hours. Twenty hours Sammy had been in surgery, the doctors had called Dean and John to have a blood sampling. Sammy needed blood, fast. Dean had been an almost perfect match and the boy had almost ordered the nurses to drain his veins dry for Sam. Anything for Sam.
John's blood was enough of a match for him to be able to donate blood as well, though they were going to use Dean's first so there was less of a chance of Sam's body rejecting the foreign blood. It was as he sat in the examination office, a needle in his veins draining his dark blood into a bag, he wondered if it was worth it. The amount of blood Sammy had lost, it had painted the motel room a vivid red from the light yellow it was previously. How long would it be before he stopped seeing that despicable motel room coated in his baby's blood? Before he stopped seeing his baby's beaten, broken and bleeding body every time he closed his eyes? This horror was not going away. This horror was never going to go away, ever.
Twenty-five hours and finally they were brought to see Sam. He looked tiny in the starched white hospital bed, tubes and wires going every which way. One giving him blood, another fluids, another a painkiller. One wire monitored his pulse and heart rate, another brain waves, then there was the tube going down Sammy's throat and up his nose.
He looked dreadful, pale and tiny. Black eyes, bruises and cuts that had been stitched up covered everywhere. John nearly lost it. He was going to kill that werewolf if it was the last thing he ever did. And every other werewolf he came across for as long as he lived.
Dean raised a shaky hand and gripped the small, pale hand of his brother's. The hand was bandaged and blood was already seeping through the white gauze. He couldn't believe the stubborn, sweet boy that was his baby brother, his responsibility, was lying in a hospital bed, near death and there was nothing he could do.
The hopelessness sunk into them, the pain and the fear. Neither could believe just what had happened. One immature, inexperienced werewolf down, but was it worth it? They had almost lost Sam to a fully-grown, experienced, mature werewolf, who had had enough presence of mind to toy with Sam before leaving him for dead, but why? Why had the werewolf left him? It was obviously hungry from the amount of damage done to Sam's chest, why did it leave without Sam's heart?
The doctors and forensics had confirmed that it had been a wild animal attack and blood on the shards of glass had proved the same animal, a large wolf, had attacked a similar young boy of sixteen, who fit Sammy's criteria. Small, slender, dark haired and pale skinned.
John shook with rage as he realised it must have been a predetermined attack on his Sam. The werewolf must have watched him throughout the day and attacked him the moment he and Dean were gone!
Never again. He was never going to leave his precious boy alone again. He had seriously learnt his lesson this time. Sammy either came with them on a hunt. Or he was placed in a highly secure, very well protected area with a highly trusted, trained hunter. He was never going to take such a risk with one of his children again, he loved them far too much to be so careless with their lives.
John geared up, watching silently as Dean did the same. The police had stopped the investigation as the forensics told them it was a wild animal attack and not murder.
John had smirked as he found the solid silver dagger with werewolf blood on it. Oh lord his baby Sammy was resourceful. Though he did wonder where Sammy had gotten the dagger from. It was beautiful, intricate and wonderfully designed. He showed it to Dean, but his oldest just shook his head.
"I've never seen it before. I would have remembered something so awesome." Dean replied, fingering the beautiful knife, he turned it over and gasped. He pointed out the two letters to his Father. D.W.
"Huh, I always did wonder what that boy spent his money on." John commented idly. "Figured it would be his hero."
John gave him a roguish grin that made Dean's eyes tear up. His baby brother had spent everything he had ever had on a hunting knife for him and he hadn't even gotten a chance to give it to him in person.
John looked over the large dagger, taking in the pentagram and protective runes, he rolled his eyes. Trust Sam to try and protect Dean in any way he could whilst making it seem like he wasn't. Such a clever boy.
"Come on Dean, we gotta kill the bastard that got your brother." John stated, loading his gun full of silver bullets.
Dean slid the knife Sammy had gotten him into his leather belt, smiling at it softly. All those years Sammy hadn't gotten him a birthday or Christmas present, giving him those puppy dog eyes as he handed him home made cards and gave him that little shy smile and a hug.
He had…had never expected that this is what Sam was doing. Saving up everything just to give him a truly awesome present. Come Sammy's birthday, he was going to get the little bitch something truly epic, he had to out do this somehow, he couldn't be letting his little baby brother show him up.
"Do you think it's going to go after Sam again?" Dean asked. Terrified that his brother would have to go up against that monster again.
"Nah. Not a werewolf's style. But the sick son of a bitch is gonna go after someone who fit's Sammy's mould. All the victims have been small, slim, male, pale skinned and dark haired. This thing has a preference and it likes them young. Sammy was the youngest victim at fourteen, there have been four fifteen year olds, two sixteen year olds and a seventeen year old. They all fit the M.O. This thing has to be stopped Dean, before it takes out any more kids."
Dean agreed solely with his Father, though he differed on the motivation, fuck the other kids, he was doing this for Sammy. That thing had assured it's death the moment it had touched his baby brother.
Hyped up on rage this time and not excitement, Dean found his head clearer, more stable. There were no uncertainties, no second thoughts. This thing was going to die. Tonight. He'd damn well make sure of it.
Sam was going to be out for the count for another sixteen hours at least according to the doctors, they wanted to keep him under sedation because of the amount of pain he was going to be in. Sam was covered in plaster casts, both of his legs, his right arm, his wrists were both in braces, his ankles, fingers and knees were strapped up tightly and his entire torso was covered thickly in gauze that had to be changed hourly because of the bleeding. Dean had given three pints of blood and John had given two. The doctors had some more from a blood bank on hand as well, but they still estimated that Sammy would need more by noon tomorrow. Plenty of time for the two oldest Winchesters to kill this fucking werewolf and rest up a bit before donating more blood to keep Sammy alive.
The raced out in the Impala, keeping their eyes peeled. This was the last night of the full moon. The last night for a month they had to kill this thing and damn kill it they would. That was a certainty.
It was near four in the morning now and neither Winchester had seen or heard any sign of the werewolf. Tension was running high, adrenaline was surging and disappointment was thick in the air of the Impala.
If they didn't catch this thing, Sammy's potential killer went running free. That was not acceptable! It was not an option! There was only one option and it involved him, a gun with a silver bullet and that werewolf dead and bleeding at his feet.
John stopped the car suddenly and Dean looked around, seeing a young boy, with black hair and holding a bleeding arm running out of an alleyway. He grinned sadistically and launched out of the car.
"Help me please!" The boy cried out, sounding much older than he looked, he was perhaps around Dean's age.
Dean reached the boy just as the werewolf came careening out of the alleyway and Dean felt himself baulk at the sight of this monster. It was so different to the werewolf he had faced last night yet the same. Greyish skin, huge claws and bigger teeth that were coated in blood. This boy was not this beast's first prey of the night and Dean felt his grip on his gun tighten.
He looked to the werewolf with detached eyes, trying to see what Sammy would have seen as he was attacked and torn apart by this thing. Wild red hair that was dry and brittle, stuck up like straw, glowing blue eyes that were crazed and seemed to be bulging out of the man's skull and a tightly muscled body that would have very easily overpowered Sammy without the supernatural strength. There was a long, but shallow, slash on the thing's chest, going right down over the bony hip and a very deep stab wound in the thing's thigh, they had both been made with silver, had Sam done that?
Dean mentally cheered his brother on, a grin filled with pride and satisfaction worked its way onto his face, Sammy had at least wounded the thing, it wouldn't be able to run as fast as it normally could with that leg injury and judging by the raw, burnt looking quality to it, it had hurt like a bitch. Was that the reason it had run away, leaving Sam? The leg injury. Had it inflicted enough pain to cause the beast to retreat like the coward it really was? Dean fucking hoped so, it wasn't nearly enough pain to outdo what this thing had done to Sammy, his responsibility, his baby brother.
Rage and revenge pooled in his gut and he kept himself in front of the boy who was huffing and moaning in pain, still holding his bleeding appendage. This thing looked terrifying and to Sam it had probably looked horrifying, his fear would have been enhanced as he had been on his own, even now Dean felt reassured by his Father's presence standing strongly at his side, gun held and cocked confidently, his aim and hands sure and unwavering. Dean trusted his Father to keep him safe if the situation took a turn for the worst, Sammy hadn't had that security net.
"You made a terrible mistake going after my son." John stated calmly as if he were talking to the werewolf over coffee. Then again the werewolf couldn't understand them, or could it? Did any Hunter actually stop and ask the beast they were exterminating if it could understand them, there had probably been one somewhere, who more than likely would be dead now.
"You fucking played with him like he was some sort of toy! Left him for dead, alone and cold in that motel room! You made a huge mistake touching him." John carried on, sneering and clenching his teeth in anger, waiting for the perfect shot.
The werewolf howled and charged at them, but both Dean and John had been ready, firing off their shots into the oncoming beast. John kept firing bullets into the body, not to make sure it was dead, but to take sick revenge for what it had done to his little boy.
"Dad we need to get back to Sammy, the sun will be rising soon." Dean reminded his Father, sneering at the werewolf corpse, which had turned back into a human. Dean neither cared nor commented upon it, kicking the corpse as he passed it, leading the stunned and silent young boy, who looked like he would rather turn and run or pass out.
"Right, come on kid, we're going to the hospital anyway, might as well take you with us."
The boy nodded and shakily got into the back of the Impala, still holding his shredded arm. Dean watched him closely in the rear-view mirror. His Dad had been right, this boy fit the M.O. he looked strikingly similar to Sammy.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon and Dean was feeling the pressure behind his eyes. He was so damned tired. He had gotten perhaps three hours of sleep before waking up with his Father to visit Sammy after dropping the boy, Callum, off at the A and E.
Dean had been right about his age being close to his own, Callum had in actual fact been celebrating his eighteenth birthday with friends and was on his way home when he had been dragged into the alleyway and attacked. Dean was just so glad they had found the werewolf, but it came as disheartening news when the police revealed that they had found two dead bodies, both of them young males with their hearts missing. One had been sixteen, the other twenty.
Dean had finished giving more blood to top Sam up and their Father was donating his blood at the moment, the nurses had informed them that Sammy had not so much as twitched. John had called Bobby Singer and the man had told them he was already on his way down and would be here by the evening.
As Dean stared into his baby brother's face, looking at the pale, stitched up and bruised face with all of the wires and the tubes, rage flared again and he wanted to murder the one responsible for this, even though he knew the thing was already dead, his need for revenge remained. He didn't understand, shouldn't his revenge have been sated with Sammy's attacker's death? Burying his head in his hands, which were resting on his legs, Dean inhaled deeply and released his breath. He repeated this until the murderous rage abated.
Dean looked up as his Father walked into the room, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and a chocolate muffin in the other, his shirt rolled over the crook of his arm and a cotton wool ball taped over the hole the syringe had left behind.
"Yeah, I just…I can't believe this is happening."
"I know how you feel, I never once believed Sam was in any danger at the motel. I didn't even think to leave him silver bullets."
"Neither of us did. I'm just so glad Sammy had that damned knife or who knows what would have happened."
John sat down in the chair opposite Dean, on the other side of a sedated Sam. He had already spoken to Mary, he was still begging for her forgiveness for almost getting one of their boys killed. He had a feeling he would be begging for the rest of his life.
Bobby came into the hospital room like a flash of lightning, one second he wasn't there, the next he was standing right next to them, or perhaps they were just losing time.
"How is he?" Bobby asked, looking at Sam with horrified eyes, the same look that had been in their eyes when they had seen that motel room.
Thinking about what he had seen Dean felt bile sweep up his throat, he threw up into his mouth, but managed to swallow it back down. Every time he saw that filthy motel room, caked in Sammy's blood and body bits, broken plaster, shattered glass, splintered wood and upturned furniture, he felt sick to his stomach.
Every time the image came to him, he thought to how scared Sammy must have been, how alone and how much agony he had to have been in. Hell there wasn't a bone in Sammy's body that hadn't been broken, fractured, bruised or dislocated. His chest was the worst damaged area, followed by his arms. The doctors speculated that Sam had tried to block some attacks by throwing his arms up like a shield to protect his chest and head from damage. This should never have happened.
"He's stable, but still critical Bobby. They're keeping him heavily sedated still." John answered.
"How in hell did the boy survive a famished werewolf attack?"
Dean held out the silver hunter's knife. He hadn't put it down since he had found it. "With this. The werewolf we killed last night showed signs of being slashed and stabbed with silver."
Bobby shook his head. "Clever boy that one. I was with him when he had that knife crafted especially for you Dean, costed a pretty penny too. I never did find out where he got the money."
"He saved for years Bobby." John answered. "All the pocket money I ever gave him, probably all the pennies he found on the floor as well, he always did have a keen eye."
"You should have seen the look on his face when he was handed the finished thing after he finally had enough to pay for it, he was so proud. He designed it himself from scratch you know, said he wanted it to be special and wanted it to have a personal touch to it. I believe the words he used were 'I don't want it to just be a lump of knife shaped metal. It need's to be different. It needs to be special like Dean.' He wouldn't hear a word against it, stubborn to the last."
Dean smiled and held the blade tighter. That Sammy had designed this blade made it even more special and awesome. He was going to make this up to Sammy when he woke up, because he would wake up, Dean was adamant about that.
It had been a week. A very long, tiresome, torturous week and Sammy hadn't so much as stirred. He was still firmly unconscious and Dean was praying daily that Sam woke up soon. He and their Dad were getting antsy. John was very short with the nurses and yelled at anyone who dared suggest that they leave the hospital because visiting hours were over, they camped out in Sammy's room, taking it in turns to catnap in the single chair.
They had no idea if Sammy had been bitten and if he had, they would be shooting him next full moon. Neither of them could handle that, they would lock Sammy up before they shot him or let anyone else shoot him. They had asked the doctors, but there was too much damage to tell if he had been bitten or not, they reasoned that if he had been bitten, the evidence would have been destroyed or covered by the multiple slashes Sam had received from the claws.
It was five in the evening when Dean was disturbed from his nap, by his pillow moving. Picking his head up, his green eyes found Sammy's hazel. He was up like a shot and hugging his baby brother.
"Oh god Sammy, are you okay? Please never do that to me ever again!"
"De." Sam croaked out. "De, sorry."
"Don't be sorry, never be sorry Sam! This wasn't your fault, not at all!" Dean burst out, how could Sammy think this was his fault? "It's my fault! You're my responsibility, you should never have gone through what you have Sam."
"What do you want Sam? What do you need?"
Dean quickly filled up a glass from the jug kept on the bedside table. He helped Sam as much as his brother allowed him, lifting him up to take small sips.
"Dad?" Sam croaked out, his voice sounding as raw as his battered face.
"He'll be back soon Sam, he's donating some more blood for you."
Sam breathed in deeply, the tubes up his nose didn't seem to be bothering him, but he kept eyeing up the one in the back of his hand, Dean knew that look and he picked up Sammy's other hand.
"You can't pull it out Sam, you need it." Dean stated firmly.
"I don't care if it itches, it stays in."
Sam gave him a small smile, Dean didn't care if it was marred heavily with pain. Sammy was awake! He was slightly lucid and had smiled!
"Sleep some more Sam, you need to rest."
Sam didn't answer and he didn't fight or complain. He just settled back in the bed and eased back into sleep. Dean watched, feeling hope for the first time in a week. Sam was awake, he would be okay, he would recover and Dean swore it to whoever listened that he would do everything he could to help Sam.
Their Father came back in to the room, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and a weary look on his face. Dean ran to him and started yammering, trying to tell his Father that Sam was fine, but being to excited to make sense.
"Woah! Woah Dean, take a breath dude." John encouraged, sitting in Dean's vacated seat and watching as Dean turned to Sammy and took a few deep breaths.
"He woke up!" Dean burst out as soon as he believed he would be able to say it without tripping over his own words. "He was awake and speaking! He even smiled Dad!"
John quickly looked to Sam, his keen eyes and shrewd mind immediately picked up on the position Sam was laying in, it was different to the past week, less stiff, more comfortable. Sam had consciously moved himself into a comfortable position, one he would have had to wake up in order to accomplish. His Sammy had woken up, when he hadn't been there to see it and find relief in seeing Sam's hazel eyes.
"Is he okay? Was he in pain?" John demanded of Dean.
"No! No." Dean was quick to reassure. "He seemed okay, tired and sore, but alright all things considered. He wanted to pull out the fluid drip though, said it itched."
John shook his head. Typical of Sam that. He settled down and made a vow not to leave until Sammy woke up again. He would see his son safe.
It was another four hours until Sammy woke up again. He made a pained, distressed sound and John and Dean were up, by his side in a moment. Bobby left to get a coffee to give the family some time together.
John felt a wave of relief wash through him as Sammy's hazel eyes, so like his own, peered up at him from that bruised face.
"Dad." Sam croaked out, sounding like he had a mouthful of sawdust. Dean immediately dived for the glass and water jug, helping Sammy drink small sips.
John held Sam as tight as he dared, trying not to harm his son any more than he already was. He could see the pain pulling at Sam's eyes and mouth, though his youngest tried to hide it.
"Didn't…didn't….I…didn't." Sammy stuttered, trying to say something, but his mouth wouldn't work.
"You didn't what Sam?"
"Didn't kill…kill it."
"No, me and Dad got it Sammy, though you did a brilliant job in wounding it, you should have seen it's leg! That wound must have gone to the bone!" Dean praised.
Sam nodded and sunk back into his pillows, looking like a huge weight had been lifted from him. He sort of sagged and went boneless and floppy, but his eyes were still open and alert, not glazed or glassy with drugs.
"I didn't…I didn't…not let." Sam stuttered again, begging with his eyes as it seemed he couldn't get his mouth to form the words that were in his mind.
"Think about what you want to say Sam." John instructed.
"I didn't let…it bite…bite me. Made sure…stopped it all…every time. No teeth, just…just claws."
John sagged himself, he wouldn't have to shoot his son. Thank god for small mercies. Sam was awake, he was recovering well from what the doctors said. He hadn't been bitten, but he wouldn't completely believe that until the next full moon. He just couldn't believe that Sammy could have kept track of all the damage done to him by the werewolf, he might have been bitten at any moment and been in too much pain to notice. But that Sammy believed he hadn't been bitten was a promising thought.
"When…when we leave?" Sam breathed out disjointedly. He was getting frustrated, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, he just couldn't get himself to say it!
"Not yet Sammy. You need to rest a bit more first." John put in sternly.
Sam nodded, not having the energy or the presence of mind to argue. He lay back on the bed and breathed deeply a few times, keeping as firm a hold on Dean and his Dad's hands as he could, but squeezing caused almost spasm like pain to shoot through his wrists, up his arms and into his shoulders. So he kept his grip loose, but not loose enough for them to be able to slip their hands away without him waking up. Sam slipped back off to sleep and was comforted by the presence of his older brother and Father.
Sam was discharged from the hospital three weeks later, stable and on the road to being completely recovered. The doctors had feared his left leg might not be the same due to the very bad compound fracture, but it had healed fine, much to the relief of John and Dean.
It was still in a cast, but it was aligned properly and the bone was fusing together very well.
Sam could speak in full sentences again, luckily that little side effect had been temporary and he was soon back to being his lovable, sarcastic and stubborn self. He didn't think that his brother or Dad had ever been as relieved to hear his sarcastic comments or welcomed his stubborn nature.
Dean was treating him like glass and his Dad hardly let him out of his sight. He hobbled on his crutches into the motel room and lay on the bed, glad to be rid of the crutches, he couldn't wait until he was rid of them and the irritating casts.
"Are you alright Sam?"
"No! These damn casts are awful! I want out of them."
"Sam." His Dad drawled out in that warning tone. "You need the casts on to heal."
"I know, I know. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so damned itchy!"
Yeah, well suck it up Sammy. You're in those casts for another couple of weeks."
Dean smiled as he watched his Dad and Sammy fighting like old times. He knew then that nothing would change, everything would turn out just fine. They would perhaps have a much bigger hate for werewolves. Would more than likely hunt them into damned extinction, or at least try as damned hard as they could to do so.
Sammy might always be coddled a bit more than he had been, but it had already been decided that his training was going to be hiked up several notches. They had decided to train him harshly in hand-to-hand combat, shooting and knifing skills. Sam needed to know to survive in this world and they were adamant that Sam would survive. Nothing else was acceptable.
Dean watched with a grin as Sam threw a pillow at their Father in frustration and had it thrown back. Sam huffed and started pouting, sulking in the bed looking more like a toddler than a teen, but that was alright. Sam was alive and well, back to him normal self and soon he would be out of the crutches and the only thing left then to remind them of that horrifying, heart wrenching night was the vivid memories, the marring nightmares and the lone scar on Sam's chest, one of the deepest wounds he had received, that hadn't quite healed in time.
But one thing was for certain, Dean would never, never ever forget this, he would never be rid of the memories that that night had given him, the feelings and emotions it had caused him. He would never forget seeing Sam ripped into pieces in that motel room, stitched up and battered in the hospital bed, not even as he was now, his stubborn, snaky self, but wearing plaster casts, scars and still bruised in some places. It would always be impossible for him to forget. Impossible.
Another oneshot in one day. I was re-watching season two and got to the seventeenth episode 'Heart' and this plot took over and just wouldn't leave me alone. Now it's done and dusted I can hopefully get back to writing Power of a Prodigy and Life and Trials.
StarLight Massacre. XxX