My Dad ~~ Badass Killer of Pussy Cats 3/3
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He eased out from under Sam, bumping an elbow on stone in the small space to crouch into position.
"Scoosch over you mangy excuse for a lion." He still didn't have the shot with the beast's shoulder outside the cave. The grazta's eyes flickered, caught in moonlight and John lifted the muzzle. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
The shot reverberated through the small space, painfully loud. The monster shrieked, whipping backwards. Sam jolted awake.
"Stay here!" John bolted from the cave.
The grazta thrashed about the clearing, crashing into boulders and the ground, shaking its head furiously. Blood sprayed from its eye socket.
A clean shot through the eyeball would've taken a lesser beast down.
John took aim, inhaled to steady his next shot. He'd only get one.
The feline staggered and spun, clearly out of its head when it suddenly reeled sideways, knocking John off his feet and rolled over him.
Breath pummeled from his chest, John stared hazily at the dark sky. Heavy exhalations and the scrabble of paws churning soil moved around him. Dirt flung into his face. He had to get up, had to draw air back into his lungs, had to shoot the damn grazta.
Running footfalls pounded the ground. A shadow flew over him, flinging more dirt. Shouts and yelps flooded the clearing.
John managed to turn his head, twist to his side, pull in needed oxygen that froze in his chest at the sight because there was his son within horrifying range of those venomous claws again, bashing the overgrown cat's brains in with a football sized rock.
Half-blinded, the grazta swiped out, shrieking in rage, but Sam kept behind it's front legs, slamming the rock down over and over, his features stiff with resolve.
Fear and adrenaline exploded through John, getting him to his knees where he once more brought the rifle to bear, though every instinct in him told him to run to his son, shove him out of the way. It took everything John had to remain still, sight down the barrel, watch his boy's arms lift, swing down, pushing the great cat off-balance with the shoulder lifting in another swipe, opening the chest area . . .
John pulled the trigger.
The rifle barked, recoiling into his shoulder.
The grazta went down with a scream and a thud. Dirt plumed up.
Sam stood over it, bloody rock raised for another strike, chest heaving.
John was up and running. "Did it get you anywhere?"
Sam's gaze turned to him like he didn't understand the question.
"Did it get you? Sam!" John stopped in front of Sam and took the rock from his hands, dropped it on the cat's head for good measure where it rolled off to the ground. "Are you alright?" Because John didn't know how Sam was standing, let alone able to smash a rock into a grazta's head. "Sam?"
Sam canted and John caught him, let his boy lean against him. As long as his heart still beat, he'd be the buttress to shore up his children.
Using John's arm for support, Sam straightened. One eye squinted. "You know, Dad. This job wasn't as easy as you said."
~~~
John pulled the truck into the motel parking lot and gave a sidelong glance at Sam, already feeling the loss of the closeness and innocence as he mentally geared up for the hunt of the yellow-eyed demon to resume. God willing, it would end here and Salvation would become more than the name of this town-it would be their salvation, a finish to the nightmare that was coming for his boy.
Sam wrenched his door open, pausing to glance back at John with an almost shy smile as though he too felt the shift as John clamped his emotions tightly around him. If he was going to keep Sam safe, he couldn't just be his father. He had to be the Hunter first, though for the remainder of his days he'd treasure that moment in the cave where Sam trusted him with all his pain.
Dean trudged out of the motel room, steaming mugs of Joe in both hands. John felt like singing his praises right then and there.
A frown tightened Dean's forehead as his observant gaze scanned his brother. He shoved the mug into John's hand the moment he came around the truck. "Why is he limping?"
It felt like the changing of the guards and the new guard was not happy with the old guard's performance.
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's nothing. Just got scratched up some. The stiffness's almost already worked out."
"Uh-huh." Unconvinced, Dean pulled Sam's head down for a closer look. How on earth did he know? "So why are you missing a clump of hair?"
Sam's entire body stiffened. "What?" He looked wide-eyed to John.
Lips twitching behind his coffee mug, John merely shrugged.
Skin blanching in zero to ten seconds, Sam rushed into the motel.
Before the hair drama could ensue, John snagged Dean's elbow. "Report. Tell me you figured out where this demon is going to be."
Dean shook his head. "I've narrowed it down to twenty-three kids so short of throwing a dart and hitting the right one, we're gonna have a lot of long nights outside of people's homes."
John nodded. Well, since none of them were psychic-thank God- "In that case, better stock up on the instant coffee." He'd wait out every last house if he had to.
Because John Winchester would die first before letting that damn demon have at his boy.
Fin