Yo, Quickreaver!
Remember this conversation? I most humbly present to thee the result of said conversation.
Here, have a bloodthirsty werewolf!Sam!
Merry Christmas? XD
The last werewolf stopped in front of Dean, towered over him, breathing heat and the coppery odor of blood. He blocked out the
moon and dripped red onto Dean’s boots from his parted jaws. His black gaze bore down until Dean had the courage to meet it.
Artist's blabber note: Inspired by quickreaver's fantastic fic In the Blood-Red Dust. If you haven't already read it, what the hell are you waiting for? (And yes, I did have the gall to art for such a stupendously talented artist as quickreaver, an exercise which could be considered the equivalent of a drunken chimpanzee presenting a mess o' scribbles to Michelangelo, but hey. It had to be done.)
With much thanks to my beta, the ah-MAY-zing scarletscarlet, she of the sentient motorbikes and were-sharks. Scarlet made me rethink many things and redraw many more things, and helped turn this
[original messy sketch]
into a pretty decent piece. ;) And many thanks to quickreaver, of course, for writing a scene that stuck in my head until it just about drew itself.
Now go forth and READ THAT FIC.
. . . and if we're lucky, there shall be further Winchester lycanthrope adventures in this 'verse.