Kings of the Night (Prologue)
prologue
“You’re an asshole.” Sam growled, shoving at his brother’s shoulder ineffectually. Dean grinned down at him, teeth glinting menacingly in the moonlight, and Sam scowled as he bucked his hips and tried to wriggle free. The hands around his wrists tightened in response, Dean gently slamming them into the ground as a warning not to try and fight. “A really big asshole.”
Across the clearing, John Winchester sighed in exasperation. “Dean, let your brother go. We both know that if he really wanted to get out, there’d be no way you could hold him down… the kid’s a quick little shit when he wants to be.”
Dean turned his head to say something, and Sam grinned to himself as he used the opportunity to his own advantage - twisting his hips and expertly twisting his body to slide out of the small space underneath Dean’s arm. He was on his feet and swiftly crossing the distance between himself and his father before Dean even had the time to fully process what was happening.
“Told you.” John said with a shrug of his shoulders, grinning a little as Sam tucked himself close to his side, slinging an arm over his youngest son’s shoulders. “You really think that after seventeen years of the kid worming his way free, you’d have learnt your lesson.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders, heaving his way to his feet in a fluid moment and collecting his leather jacket from where he’d tossed it aside when the two of them had started scrapping.
“Never hurts to try,” He grinned, draping his jacket over a branch, alongside the two already hanging there. “You two ready? Or are we just gonna stand around talking all day?”
John grinned wider, punching him solidly on the shoulder, before stepping aside, peeling his t-shirt off and tossing it on the floor, jeans and boxers following close behind. Sam was next, taking his sweet time in the same way he always did, and it wasn’t until the last of the youngest Winchester’s clothes hit the floor that Dean realized the he was the only one still dressed.
Scowling, he tossed them aside carelessly, feeling the slight tingle in the base of his spine even as he kicked off his jeans and shifted to his hands and knees. He caught a brief glimpse of tawny fur and hazel eyes before the change swept over him, as seamless as always. There was a brief moment of white hot agony, all of his bones breaking and shifting, and then the pain eased and he eased himself into a stretch.
A feeling of contentment settled in the pit of his stomach as he felt the familiar power in his muscles, pressed his claws into the ground and finally rose back to his feet with the closest thing his canine face could manage to a grin. Across the clearing, his father was just standing from his own stretch, and Dean turned his head to look for Sam just in time to feel the younger canine’s body barrel into his own.
He twisted his body, snapping at the air his brother had occupied only seconds before, but their father hadn’t been lying when he said that the kid was fast. He was already at the tree line, bushy tail wagging lightly behind him like a house pet, outlined so perfectly by the moon that he looked almost like a painting. Where Dean and John were wide-set and muscular, Sam was slim and lithe, his head the perfect height tuck comfortably underneath Dean’s neck. He was built to attack rather than to defend, fast on his feet and with a mind just as sharp as his teeth.
Letting out a small snarl, Dean launched himself after the smaller wolf. As he always did, Sam waited until he was almost close enough to tackle him to the floor, and then he took off into the night, paws moving so lightly over the ground that they were almost silent. Behind him, Dean could hear the sound of their father closing in.
The chase was on.
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