This started out as a recent Enkidu/Onyx Moonbeam Drabble Challenge. Soon after I'd written it I began planning out a longer version – making this little yarn my first Supernatural full-length story (gulp). It's taken me a while to pluck up the courage to go beyond 100 words in this fandom. I hope it makes sense! Any feedback greatly appreciated! Especially keen to know if I've written the guys in character – that's really important to me!

Chapter 1

The dagger-sharp teeth sank deeper into his leg as he tried in vain to pry open the ancient steel jaws. He groaned out loud as blood continued to ooze from torn flesh, soaking his already sodden jeans, staining the blue denim a purple-red.

Sweat drenched he grasped the object one more time, took a deep breath and pulled. The scream of rust-covered metal intermingled with his own cries of pain as, with both hands shaking, he pried open the blood-covered trap.

Moments later the bloodied jaws slipped from his grasp, plunging back into badly-damaged-flesh and sending Dean Winchester into blessed oblivion!


Earlier that day:

"C'mon Dean … would ya hurry up in there," Sam whined, banging his hand hard against the bathroom door.

The response, garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste, was difficult to make out.

"What?" the younger Winchester questioned, testing the door handle one more time; it was still locked.

"I said in a minute," Dean spluttered, spitting into the basin, the faucet drowning out the additional expletives.

Sam wandered back over to his laptop, sat down and returned to the images on the screen. The latest news reports made for gruesome reading; another shredded body located in nearby woods, assumed to be another serial killer victim. But their Dad had known differently; had realized, based on the reported facts, that this killer was not human, but supernatural. And within hours of their arrival both brothers knew he'd been right to be concerned; right to send them to these specific co-ordinates.

With a population of less than five thousand it had been clear from the start that something sinister had occurred within this small community. Their arrival at the only motel in town had been greeted with suspicion and hostility at first, until Dean had wooed over the female proprietor with his killer smile and razor sharp wit (his words not Sam's). After that, and the flashing of fake FBI badges, it had been easy to quiz her; easy to find out what had been happening to make the residents of Maycombe, Alabama so jumpy.

And the various documents now open on his screen seemed to back up her story. There had been a total of ten murders within the past two months; all the victims had been locals; all had had their chests ripped open before being dumped in nearby woods. And all the deaths had occurred on or around a full moon, leading the local media to give the supposed "nut job" an appropriate name – the "Lunar-tic."

Experienced as they were it wasn't hard for the Winchesters to identify a pattern; to identify what they were dealing with. With all the killings linked to a full moon it was pretty clear a Werewolf was on the prowl. Or was it?

Fortunately for the police there had been witnesses. But unfortunately for the Winchesters some of their reports seemed to contradict the "Werewolf" theory. Because although the witnesses had not actually seen the attacks they had all seen the victims, clearly terrified, running from someone – or, as some had described, something. A strange, inexplicable thing (a ghostly apparition) screaming in rage as it ran in pursuit of its luckless victim.

Based on these statements, therefore, it seemed that they were dealing with an angry spirit and not a Werewolf – which didn't make sense. And of course the spectral sightings didn't make sense to the cops either, who were quick to assume there had been some kind of mistake; some trick of the light.

Sam was re-examining details of the latest murder when Dean emerged from the steaming bathroom.

"All yours," the older Winchester grinned as he began towel drying his wet hair. With another towel wrapped around his trim waist Sam could clearly make out the plethora of scars that adorned his brother's muscular body; evidence to countless "fugly" encounters gone wrong.

Sam, now desperate for his long overdue pee, scooted past him.

"Oh sorry bro," Dean smirked. "You should've said you needed to go."

"Jerk," Sam called from the bathroom, a certain amount of relief in his voice.

"Bitch," Dean responded, smiling. He'd missed these moments with his younger brother; missed having him around these past two years. It had taken the disappearance of their Dad to prompt the long overdue reunion. But once they'd established that John was still alive Sam had been eager to return to a normal life at Stamford. And Dean, although reluctant to hit the road alone, had acquiesced to his brother's wishes – after all, truth be told, he'd always wanted Sam to get out of the "family business." But they both should've known that a Winchester can never get out and, with Jessica's death at the hands of the Yellow-eyed Demon, Sam was desperate to get back in.

Dean pulled a tee over his damp head and peered down at the news item left open on the laptop.

"Another one, huh?" he said as Sam re-entered the room and sat back at the table.

"Yeah ... same M.O. as the others … found early this morning."

"I don't get it," Dean muttered in frustration, as he pulled on his pants and tucked in his tee. "Everything we know … it all points to a Werewolf … so what's the deal with Psycho-Casper?"

"I don't know," Sam mused as he tabbed through the open web pages. "I've been going over it again … none of the witnesses knew each other … the cops haven't released much information to the press, so it's not like we've got "copy-cat" statements here ... I think what they're saying they saw they actually did see."

"But a pissed off spook?" the older Winchester queried, incredulous. "Only showing itself on a full moon – we have to be missing something."

"Well if we are I don't think we'll find it here," Sam responded, closing down his laptop. "I think we should go talk to one of the witnesses that saw the apparition ... check if the cops missed something."

"Ya know what Sammy," Dean grinned as he pulled on his boots and began tying the thick laces. "I think you're finally beginning to think like a Winchester again."

To be continued.