A/N It's been over thirty years since I wrote any real story, and have not written anything for Supernatural before this….this is the first! It is set season five, AU, and warnings for occasional language and graphic violence... oh, please review, good or bad, I'd just be happy to hear from you!
The noise woke him up. He could not quite figure out what it was, but there had been a noise.
His heart was beating too fast, which only meant that he's woken up with a fright. Not for the first time. He stretched, and turned over. Last time this happened, he'd woken several times with a fright to some unidentifiable loud noise, only to finally figure out, as he was falling asleep for the umpteenth time, that it was his own snoring that was waking him up. He gave a little harrumph of a laugh at that. Woulda been really funny, if the lack of sleep hadn't ruined the following day...
There it was again. Damn. Someone, or something, was in the garage. Funny, though, the dogs had not barked. If there was someone out there the dogs would be off like a Gatling gun.
Neighbors didn't mind his dogs too much, as they only barked when there was something to bark at..and they weren't barking ... so ... Maybe he'd not shut the garage door properly and it was blowing in the breeze?
Except, there was no breeze, and the noise didn't really sound like the door. He felt his heart beat faster again. Big brave man. Just as well there was no one around to witness his fear, or make him act all hero-like and check out the noise. Still, if it was the garage door, then it was going to keep making that noise, and keep him awake. A big meeting tomorrow, being tired and baggy-eyed would not be to his advantage.
Ah, well, better check. He slipped on his ratty track pants and pulled a sweat shirt over top. No dressing gowns for him, that would make him look too much like his dad. He could ignore, most of the time, the thickening waist, the thinning hair, but if he caught sight of himself in a dressing gown and slippers, well he might as well check into the retirement home right now. Forty four was not old.
Not by a long shot!
He stuffed his feet into his old running shoes that he kept instead of slippers, and stumbled his way to the back door. Flicking on the light switch he checked out the window first, seeing only his dogs curled into tight balls as they slept through whatever had woken their sleepy master up.
Well, he was pretty sure it wasn't anything dangerous, or they would be up and at ém. Pretty sure. He sucked a few deep breaths to calm his hammering heart, and grabbed the baseball bat he kept near the door for just this occasion. He yanked open the door, and the dogs didn't move a muscle.
Could be dying, and there they were, fast asleep.
It was cold, and they were hounds, thin skinned, felt the cold, and all that. Sighing, pretending he wasn't the least bit frightened, he shuffled down off the back porch and over to the long brick garage that ran parallel to the timber house. The outside light was dim, and he couldn't see if the door that led into the garage was shut all the way, or not.
He gave it a push, and sure enough, it swung open. Well, must be getting a bit loose in the old memory department. He flicked on the garage light switch, but no light.
Flicked it up and down. Nothing. Doesn't matter, he thought, I'll just shut the door tight & slide right back into dream land. He turned, but as he looked up at his dogs that had been sleeping so soundly, he felt his heat jump right into his mouth. They were not asleep.
The three big hounds were crouched low, like they were stalking prey, and they were growling very deep and quiet, threatening, saliva dripping down from their sharp, white teeth.
But it was their eyes.
Their normally friendly big black-brown puppy eyes that could melt your heart with a soft blink were no longer gentle black-brown dog eyes.
Instead, they glowed a hot, bloody red, looking all in the world like demon spawn movie devils.
The growling grew louder, and they started to creep forward.
All the time, they fixed their terrified master with their burning gaze, as they stalked closer, hot breath pluming white in the cold air.
He felt himself frozen to the spot, his breath caught in his throat, heart once again hammering his fear.
He pushed back on the garage door, moving slowly, not taking his eyes off his canine babies, the dogs he'd raised from tiny puppies. Three big, well trained hunting hounds, his constant weekend companions, now devil dogs stalking him, herding him into the confines of his garage.
Turning swiftly he shoved the door, but was not quick enough.
The dogs leapt, throwing themselves at the garage door, forcing it back with a sharp report into the wall.
Their terrified master fell back onto the concrete, his eyes blinking hard in disbelief, a stream of "No no no no no no " starting from his trembling lips.
He tried to scurry backwards, his track pants slipping against the rough concrete, his shoes dislodging, but the dogs were not to be dissuaded.
Their growls grew even louder, and they advanced on their hapless master, standing over him, their saliva dripping onto his terrified features. His brain refused to register what was happening, still chanting his refusal, he tried to push up and away from his formerly loving pets.
The largest grabbed his face in its hot mouth, engulfing his fleshy cheeks with it's hot breath, teeth tearing at the meat of his face. He screamed, a sound tearing out of his gut in a rush of fear, pain and utter disbelief.
Like a starting gun this released the other two hounds, and they fell on him, tearing, ripping, until the bubbling, bloody screams of their master fell into silence, only the sounds of the tearing, gobby smack of wet flesh on concrete, the garage door once again banging in the slight breeze..
"Honey?" She poked her snoring husband in the back. "Baby? You awake?""
His snoring didn't miss a beat. Damn, that guy could sleep through an earthquake. Had, in fact, done just that, back in '97, as he was so fond of regaling his friends at every possible occasion.
Didn't help his poor, heavily pregnant wife.
She sat up, hand stoking absent mindedly at her massive belly. Baby rolled, then also settled back to its own little baby dreams, whatever they were. Ah well, now she had to pee. Whatever had woke her up was forgotten, her need to get to the bathroom taking over from any other priority.
As she washed her hands, hoping that was the last time she had to get out of bed that night, but knowing full well it was more than likely not, she hear that funny noise again.
A door banging?
Maybe the shed? No, the shed door was so stiff, that even if it was open, it would wedge in whatever position it was left, needing a hard shove to close it.
There it is again.
What the hell was that?
"Ruby?' she called. The Rottweiler didn't come, not surprisingly, if anyone could sleep sounder than her husband, it was the dog they laughingly called a watch dog. Watchdog, my eye, she thought.
Only way she could deter an intruder was if he fell over her while she was sprawled out in the middle of the lunge room rug.
But there it was again. Oh, well, may as well check it out. I can grab some of the leftover chicken while I'm downstairs, she thought, heaving her front heavy frame down the carpeted stairs. The nose sounded like it was coming from the kitchen, anyway.
She turned on the hall light, and shuffled through the lounge room into the adjoining kitchen, flicking the light switch as she entered.
Aah, globe must've popped. Will have to get sleeping beauty to fix that tomorrow.
He'd have a fit if his wife, only a week off her due date, climbed on a chair to replace the dead bulb.
The noise again, but this time she was sure it was behind her. She turned, the dim stairwell globe barley lighting the lounge, most of it draped in eerie shadows. As she fumbled for the lounge light, she felt her bones turn to jelly, and her bladder gave way, recent trip to the bathroom or no, the warm wetness puddled unnoticed around her bare feet.
There, in the gloom of the lounge, two coal-red eyes glowed, and as the dark shape that housed them moved forward, she saw white fangs, a snarled, snub snout twisted in hate, saliva dripping onto the plush carpet as her beloved Ruby crept forward, crouched low to pounce, death in her glowing eyes, her growl like a low revving engine rumbling through the otherwise quiet room.
Her pregnant master turned to run, but to no avail as Ruby leapt up, her heavy jaw clamped on the back of her once beloved owner's neck, pulling her to the floor in a mass of twisted limbs and black hot fur. He owner screamed but the sound was cut quickly as Ruby clamped her jaws on the throat of the helpless woman, and in one bite severed the windpipe and jugular, blood gushing out over the crisp white floor tiles.
As Ruby tore into the pregnant belly of the dying woman, upstairs, warm in bed, her husband turned over, blissfully still snoring, sleep claiming him till the morning light.
"Dean?" Sam called, pushing the bathroom door open. Empty. Damn, where was he? It wasn't like Dean to wake up before him, and apart from the tiny bathroom, there was nowhere to hide. Sam ran his and through his too long hair and exhaled nervously.
Where could he be?
Just as he felt his adrenalin start to kick him the guts with a bolt of cold panic the door to the shabby motel room opened, and there stood the wayward brother, coffees, greasy diner bag, and a newspaper in his hands.
"There you are!" exclaimed Sam, and reached out to take the proffered breakfast.
"Where were you? What time did you get up? Why didn't you wake me?" he quizzed. Dean started to fill his mouth with the massive breakfast sandwich he'd bought.
"Dude, what's your damage? I couldn't sleep, is all. No need to get your panties all in a knot. Chill."
Sam rolled his eyes, but started in on his breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Vanilla Latte. Dean had put a bit of effort in getting a nice breakfast for him, for a change.
"Anyways, I got us a job, I think" he shoved the paper at Sam across the small Formica table, pointing at the bold headlines.
"Multiple Killings in the latest Horror Dog Attacks" read Sam, then pulled the article closer as he continued to read. "Dean, this is shocking, really, but how do we not know that it isn't just rabies, or poisoned dog food, or something?'
"Eleven people killed by their normally gentle pets, who then eat out their hearts? Sounds like us, I think. Besides, read the next page, it all ties together there."
Sam flicked the page over, his pancakes all but forgotten now. He read the article Dean had circled, perhaps while he was waiting for the food to be prepared.
Ïs it one of ours?"
"Maybe? Dude! How can this not be a job for us?"
"I dunno, Dean" Sam finally returning to his breakfast. "Shouldn't we be more concerned about the apocalypse? These kind of jobs can wait, or someone else can worry about them. I can call Bobby, he can pass this on"
Dean shoved the rest of his sandwich in and sat down. "Whatever, dude, I just think this maybe related. Hell hound kinda deal, or something. And I already rang Bobby. He's in research mode as we speak. Now chow down, animal control opens in an hour, and I wanna get a look at these mutts".
Sam's brow furrowed. "Really? They kept them alive?" He shook his head. "If they are some kind of hell hounds, I doubt city pound is going to contain them."
Dean slurped his coffee. "Only four are alive, due to be gassed later today. I just wanna run the EMF over them, maybe give 'em a little holy water in their doggy bowl. See what we got her. Bobby said if we can get a hair sample he can get some tests run".
"Sounds like a plan" Sam agreed, and drained the last of his coffee.
A/N Please review...any contact is greatly appreciated! Please? I'll send you a puppy!..Oh, wait…..