The Thousandth Man, Conclusion
Title: The Thousandth Man, Conclusion
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers up to season 3.02
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine yet.
Summary: Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades. An act of betrayal turns the table and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.
Sam startled himself awake, shouting Dean’s name.
Bobby grabbed him and gently pushed him back into bed. “It's okay, Sam. You’re safe now.”
“It took him, Bobby! We have to get him back!”
“Sam, we saw the mess. What it stole wasn’t Dean, it was just his corpse.”
“I don’t care! It…”
“Sam…”
“No, you’re going to listen to me!” Sam frantically struggled to get free of his friend. “It took his body. Why, Bobby? Why do that?”
“Maybe for a ritual or … oh damn, don’t make me say it,” Bobby said, fighting back sorrow and disgust.
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I unloaded two clips into it and it didn’t even slow the fucker down. It was like the bullets didn’t do any damage.”
“What are you saying?”
“Dean might be alive.”
“Sam, he used a Glock. You don’t use a Glock to miss.”
“Bobby, we have to find those things. That’s why we’re here to begin with, right? Now we’ll just have to work twice as fast. Please tell me Mac’s got something because if he doesn’t I’m going to waste the bastard for what he’s done.”
Bobby felt honest dread race through his veins. Sam meant it when he threatened to kill Mac. Now, more than ever, he shared Dean’s fear that Sam didn’t come back whole. This warrior fearlessly challenging his leadership was not the same young man introduced to him three years ago. No, this was a stranger with the potential to cause carnage and enough anger in him to not care.
He had no choice now. He had to find Dean if only to gain some semblance of control over Sam.
“All right. Can you walk?”
Sam nodded and quickly stood up. He asked, “What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
“Any reports of missing people?”
“None so far.”
“They’re up to something, Bobby. I know it. That’s why Dean did what he did. He knew something was wrong, really wrong. And being Dean he took the hardest road possible.”
“Now that I can believe.”
Sam followed Bobby to the den. Mac was sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and paperwork. He looked up at Sam, his face pale and sorrowful.
“I’m so…”
“Tell it to someone who gives a damn,” Sam barked, sounding exactly like his father. “What have you found?”
“They are shapeshifters, as we suspected, but older than I first thought.” Mac handed over a small book, its cover decorated with medieval religious iconography. “In the Middle Ages, certain areas of France were havens for these creatures. The local churches needed their help to guard their villages and towns so they indoctrinated them into their fold as protectors. They also gave their blessing so these things could do whatever necessary to defend them.
“It was peaceful for a while, but that changed as the Middle Ages came to an end. By the 1400’s they were hunted down as monsters or demons, with the Church usually leading the mob. The shapeshifters had no choice but to go underground. They're not like the shapeshifters we know. They had the Church’s blessing and magic gifted to them so they could rise again and again. Some of the stories say just one of those things could take out an entire marauding band in one night.”
“Perfect killers,” Sam flatly stated. “No wonder we didn’t do any damage.”
“I’d like to think we were lucky,” Mac agreed. “But something tells me it has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with your brother.”
Sam turned triumphantly to Bobby, “I told you.”
“You really think Dean might be alive?” Bobby asked doubtfully. “Even after what we found?”
Mac shrugged. “All I can say is I got a grocery list of ways these things can’t be killed and maybe Dean’s suicide attempt should be included. Look, they were out hunting us for a reason and that reason was Dean. They found him last night and took him. They exposed themselves, Bobby, and these things are incredibly secretive. That’s how they survived for so long.”
“When was the last time one was killed?”
“Seventy-six years ago. Believe it or not she was a makeup artist working for MGM. They were hunting the entire family but they only got the mother. Five hunters went in, only one got out alive.”
Sam paled visibly. “The child, was it a daughter or a son?”
“Daughter. Why?”
Bobby’s mouth dropped open. He turned to Sam, “You don’t think…”
“I swear, I’m going to slap a chastity belt on Dean when this is over.”
“That Carnegie broad?” Mac asked, “you think?”
“Dean has a history of attracting the wrong sort of women,” Sam said. “Though this one tops the goddamn list. We need to find her.”
“The general store,” Bobby said. “That’s where he met her.”
Dean slowly opened his eyes then immediately regretted doing so as he was blinded by bright sunlight. For a moment he drowned in confusion as he thought he was back at the lodge, and that his suicide attempt was nothing but a nightmare. But when he tried to move his arms he found otherwise.
He was shackled down to a steel-frame bed. With deliberate slowness Dean examined his surroundings. The room was decorated for a woman with luxurious tastes. Expensive perfume bottles littered an ornate vanity table, with a cluster of expensive handbags piled haphazardly on the bureau standing besides it. Dean gasped when he saw a bag sitting in front of the bureau. He recognized it.
“I see you feel better.”
Dean’s head snapped towards the doorway. He didn’t hear Abigail open the door. Where before her beauty inspired him, now all he felt was loathing. As she cautiously approached him Dean noticed her necklace and the medallion she used as a charm. He had overheard the argument back at the lodge and idly wondered how old it was.
With a theatrical sigh he sank back into the bed. “You know I blew out my brains so I wouldn’t end up here.”
“I noticed,” she replied sweetly.
“And that wasn’t big enough hint for you? Man, talk about thick.”
“If it helps any my mother set herself on fire, thinking that would free her. It didn’t work either.”
“Wow, and I thought my family had issues.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I’m guessing your father’s around.”
“He’s recuperating. Your brother wounded him terribly.”
“I hope he dies.”
“I doubt it.” Abigail answered breezily and sat down on an armchair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d say I have a bad headache but, honestly, that wouldn’t even begin to describe the pain.”
“Don’t worry, it will fade soon, and when the sun sets you won’t feel any pain at all.”
“What are you?” Dean asked. “Just curious.”
“We’re shapeshifters.” Abigail smiled again, “But not werewolves as you and your friends assumed.”
“I noticed silver didn’t work.”
“Consecrated silver even,” Abigail said and opened a box sitting on her beside table. She pulled out a handful of bullets.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean whispered.
“No,” she jingled them to make merry noises. “Good idea but useless when it comes to us.”
Dean blanched a little. “I’m not one of you yet.”
“Before the night is over you will be.”
“First kill, right?”
“Tradition that must be upheld for obvious reasons.”
“Well then you better finish me off ‘cause I…”
“Have no choice,” Abigail interrupted. “My blood is in your veins, Dean. When the night comes it will sing and you will fall. Not because it’s painful or degrading, but because it’s so sweet and liberating.”
Dean remembered the elation he felt the night before. He could still feel its echo inside his skull, humming like a long forgotten lullaby.
“That’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel tonight,” Abigail said as if she read his thoughts.
Dean looked at her, fear evident in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Abigail said. “So many things that you worry about will become trivialties.”
“What about all the people you killed? Are they just annoyances to you?”
“My father’s grown weak. He can’t hunt as well as he used to. So I bring food to him.”
“Is that why I’m here? To replace him?”
Abigail looked thoughtfully at Dean, “That’s part of it, yes. He knows you’ll do everything you can to protect me.”
“What makes him think I won’t end you the first chance I get?”
“You’ll have your answer tonight.”
“And I guarantee you won’t like it.”
“How can you be so sure, Dean?”
“Because I was raised to dust monsters like you.”
“So if you’re so willing to kill ‘monsters’ - what of your brother?”
“What about Sam?”
“What? You think those pitiful bullets could hurt someone like my father?” Abigail ruthlessly pressed through Dean’s anger and fear. “It was your brother’s blood that wounded him, Dean. We are of old magic, blessed by the Church. Demon blood is inimical to our existence, and your brother’s veins are tainted with it.”
“I suggest you go check your current status with the Church, darling ‘cause I’m pretty sure they have rules about cannibalism and ritual murder. Not to mention kidnapping and torture.”
“Torture?”
“You making me have a girly conversation with you. Not even Sammy could make me talk this much, and he’s been at it a lot longer than you.”
Abigail stood up, “I see this is making you uncomfortable. Get some rest. You’ll need your strength.”
Dean waited until he was sure she couldn’t hear his movements. Then he systematically began studying the shackles. They were old and rusted from disuse. Dean figured if the change last night had already affected him to the degree that he was still alive after putting a bullet in his skull, then odds were good that he was also physically stronger. He also wondered if he inherited some other superpowers. Feeling extremely foolish Dean began mentally sending SOS to his brother.
Sam’s earnest eyes and good manners easily won him the information he sought. Looking at Beth’s scribbled note he estimated it would take another thirty minutes of record-breaking driving to reach Dean. And they still lacked a decent plan to rescue his brother, as they were unable to come up with a plan to fight against the creatures and win.
“So, we’re just going to charge in there?” Mac asked cautiously.
“Don’t have anything better,” Bobby answered. “I want Plan B too, Mac, but we’re running out of time.”
“And Dean won’t stand for it,” Sam added. “He’ll do anything to get away and end up pissing them off. They’ll rip him apart.”
Bobby’s anxiety clawed its way higher in his throat. Sam was right, of course. And knowing Dean he’d probably decided to start early in pissing off his captors. That boy had a gift for getting himself ass-deep into dangerous situations.
Mac saw the dismissal from both men and began preparing for the hellish fight ahead of them. He loaded all the guns, including two shotguns, with consecrated rounds. He also blessed all the knives including Sam’s machete. For a moment he was tempted to coat the handle with holy water but refrained from doing so at the last moment.
He really didn’t want to know what the status of Sam’s soul was right in the middle of a life-or-death struggle. He also dipped the tips of his daggers in poison. There was no harm in having a backup.
The lake itself was moderately sized, but the houses surrounding it were anything but. Sam parked Mac’s truck far from view. The three men began making their way to the house, all quietly falling into their particular mode of hunting.
Sam noted the fancy speed boat bobbing next the dock and wondered if he could hotwire the damn thing for a quick getaway if the need arose.
Dean felt his entire body suddenly tighten as if he was about to go into seizure. The pain was bright when it burst inside his skull, momentarily disabling him. As he recovered from the attack Dean felt the change suddenly flow through him. Abigail was right; there was only elation and sweet euphoria. The shackles that held him disintegrated under his assault as he struggled free.
Dean turned to the window and saw the sun was slowly sinking. And with the encroaching night he sensed Abigail’s call. He had to respond. It was all-consuming imperative. With heedless abandon he ran out of the house, feeling the physical changes as his arms grew in girth and length. His clothes fell off his frame like streamers. The remnants of his boots trailed behind him as the hooves tore the soles right down the middle.
Abigail looked at Sam with avid interest. He had cleverly ambushed her while she was taking a stroll. “I wish we had more time to chat but I’m afraid the hour grows short.”
Sam didn’t waver as he stood his still with the shotgun pointed at Abigail’s head. “Where is Dean?”
“Resting I think,” she replied conversationally. “At least for your sake I hope he is. Because if he isn’t then you are about to put the final touches in my father’s plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Dean must spill innocent blood. And though yours is tainted it will have to do.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Gave him his heart’s desire.”
“I really don’t…”
“A family who needs and wants him forever and ever. A family who can truly appreciate all the sacrifices he'll make.” Abigail flatly stated. "Something you didn't do. Your and your father used him like a dog. And then disposed of him when he was of no further use to you."
"Where is he?" Sam repeated, his anger bleeding around the edges of his control.
"Here's your answer." A look of triumph washed over her face.
Sam suddenly heard the noise of bushes breaking apart.
“It was nice talking to you, Sam.” Abigail stepped back until she was out of the clearing.
A blur of tan and brown rushed towards Sam, smashing him against a tree. He collapsed to his knees then heard Dean charging again. He hastily rolled to his right only to find himself cornered by a boulder. Before he could get to his feet Dean was on top of him.
Sam couldn’t stop himself from crying out in horror. It was as if Dean’s face had melted and was in the spongy stage where the lightest pressure from his thumb could leave an imprint. Even his eye color had changed to murky brown. Dean raised his clawed right hand to strike. It was poised high above Sam’s head but didn’t slash down. Instead, it hovered.
Sam looked at his brother then, “Jesus, what did they do to you?”
The question startled the creature and it backed off. Sam hastily scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face.
“Dean, it’s me. We’ve come to get you out of here.”
The creature cocked its head, a move so reminiscent of Dean that Sam found himself hoping that he hadn’t lost his brother yet. “Yeah, we’re all here, Dean. We…”
“Need to realize it’s over,” Abigail interrupted.
Sam turned to woman just in time to catch the lightening-quick metamorphosis. She jumped on him, her claws frantically ripping through his thin winter jacket. Sam felt them tear into flesh before he even had a chance to react to the attack.
Dean jumped on Abigail, dragging her off of Sam. The younger Winchester didn’t waste time categorizing his wounds. Instead, Sam grabbed his shotgun and began firing. The shots slowed her down, but it was obvious she was determined to get to him. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed her by the midriff and began propelling her away from his brother.
Sam fired off five more rounds before Dean managed to steer Abigail to the dock. It was then Sam realized what Dean had planned. He began sprinting towards them but it was too late. With one mighty heave Dean threw himself at Abigail and both entered the lake with a huge splash.
Sam frantically searched the dark water, looking for his brother. When Dean didn’t emerge Sam dove in. He swam quickly, as the setting sun was all that provided light for his search. He quickly spotted Dean and Abigail resting at the muddy bottom. Sam had to use all his strength to pry Dean away from his companion as they were entwined like frightened children. After freeing Dean, Sam encircled his brother’s waist and began kicking towards the surface.
As he rose Sam saw his brother change as the sun’s dying light filtered through the water and lit Dean. To Sam’s shock Dean’s face began swiftly reforming into a familiar visage. The body also shrank so by the time Sam hit the surface he was holding Dean in his human form. He took great gulps of air and began swimming to the beach where Mac and Bobby waited. They rushed in when he was close enough and helped Sam drag Dean to safety.
“He’s breathing,” Bobby whispered after checking on Dean. “Lungs sound good.”
Sam wheezed, “The father?”
“Dead. We found him in his bed.”
“What killed him?”
“Haven’t a clue. Maybe something we used? Or a combination?” Mac answered. “We need to get out of here now.”
“Bobby … are there any survivors?”
The answer was a bleak negative. Mac got his truck and drove to the house to picked them up. Sam set the boat on fire to get attention. When the police arrived they would naturally look into the house whose front and back door Bobby left open. It wouldn’t be long before they smelled the putrefaction and searched the basement.
Sam tucked more blankets around Dean’s unconscious form. He wished he could’ve done more for the victims but at least they would find peace and their families a much needed closure.
Dean didn’t want to discuss what happened while he was held hostage. And Sam would’ve respected his decision had Dean at least tried to explain his suicide attempt. But his brother refused to even acknowledge the fact that he blew out his skull. Three days of meandering conversations peppered by stony silence slowly grated Sam’s patience until it was leaf-thin.
The fight erupted when either least expected it - while cleaning out the Impala’s backseat. Harsh words were thrown, accusations were pushed around until Dean’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his skull. Sam managed to grab his brother before he hit the ground. Like usual Dean had lied about his state of health and the exertion from the verbal war had weakened him. Sam was left to deal with the guilt, and when Dean came to, both decided to keep a fragile truce instead of revisiting the argument.
The détente stood until dinnertime when Sam made pasta and spinach salad to Dean’s great displeasure. Dean didn’t hesitate to complain and for a while Sam agreed with Dean’s ridiculous accusations, sounding exactly like a hen-pecked husband. That lasted until Dean tried to take over the kitchen in order to make his dinner since Sam had obviously neglected to consider Dean's needs.
“Like hell you are,” Sam snarled, grabbing the cooking utensils from Dean’s grasp. “You’re going to sit your ass down and eat with the rest of us. I made the fucking dinner especially for you.”
“I lost blood, not fat!” Dean snapped. “I need iron and that means meat!”
“Spinach has iron, you idiot! Will you stop being such a selfish asshole and sit down?”
“Me? I’m the selfish asshole? You’re the one who made dinner nobody likes!”
“Really? I’m selfish? Excuse me but I remember you taking off at the first sign of trouble, Dean. You didn’t stick around to see what anybody else had to say about your condition! No, the great fucking Dean Winchester has to go out like a man. Never mind his friends or his brother who would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to find a cure.
“The Great Dean Winchester has fucking decreed it so it must be law!”
“Where the hell is that coming from?”
“You shot yourself, you goddamn hypocrite!” Sam roared.
“Do you know why?”
“No, enlighten me!”
“So you don't have to! Because if you did, that would’ve been just another thing you’d use to torture yourself with. And I wasn’t about to let you use me to rip yourself apart, you jackass!”
“So you blew out your brains because you were looking out for me?”
“Yeah, you dipshit. I sure as fuck didn’t do it for my health!”
“I can’t believe you’re telling me you committed suicide in order to make me feel better.”
Dean paused for a moment before nodding. “Well … yeah.”
“And I’m the dipshit? I don’t know, Dean. From where I’m standing it looks like you cornered all the dipshit genes in the family.”
“Well, with your freakish height, no surprise. I mean the air’s gotta be pretty thin up there. No wonder your brain’s so damn slow sometimes.”
“Will you pups shut the hell up?!” Bobby bellowed from the den. “I can’t believe you’re upset because Sam’s pissed. You ate a bullet, Dean. That would upset even me! And you, Sam! This is the umpteenth time Dean made the ultimate sacrifice for you so shut up and be grateful! And let me enjoy my Mythbusters in peace. Jesus!!”
Sam chewed his lip continuously and glared at Dean while he sliced beef into strips and fried them in the pan. Dean gave a withering glance in return before recording their latest hunt into the journal.
Sam took couple of glances over his shoulder before saying, “So you think it was the water?”
Dean nodded, “Gotta be. There’s a lot of lore out there that says supernatural creatures can’t cross running water.”
“It’s a lake, Dean.”
“Second verse, same as the first.”
“And your cure?”
Dean hesitated, “I think my killing her had a lot to do with it. But, I honestly can’t tell if it was that or the lake that did the trick.”
“Don’t forget, you didn’t kill an innocent and all this happened before sunset.”
“I figured that too. What I don’t get is why the hell did they live next to the lake?”
“Maybe it was the safest place for them. Nobody would think their kind would make home next to the one thing that could destroy them. And because the father was getting on - it was a way for him to prepare for his death?”
“You mean just get up one day and go for the final swim?”
Sam shrugged, “Too many questions and not enough answers. We’re probably the only ones to have dealt with their kind this side of the Atlantic since World War II. It’ll probably be another seventy or even hundred years before they show up on the radar again.”
“Ain’t that a bitch?”
“What really puzzles me is how the father died. His autopsy report said it was some kind of hyperallergic reaction. But what could be so toxic to them? The silver? The iron? The holy water or the runes? Or combination maybe?”
“Who the fuck cares. The bastard’s dead. Good riddance,” Dean said curtly and continuing to write about the hunt, also adding few of his observations during the time of his infection. Sam caught the words ‘release’ ‘happiness’ ‘sense of belonging’ and wondered how much it took Dean to fight for and not against him.
Bobby joined them for dinner and they managed to have a civil conversation. Mac had left earlier with hurried farewells and good lucks. Sam was only too glad to see the hunter go as he was still nursing resentment regarding Mac’s betrayal. Bobby decided to stick around to see how the local law enforcement would tag this investigation. Dean bet a twenty it would go the serial killer route. Sam took the bet with his own prediction of a cult murder/suicide pact. Bobby guessed law enforcement would make nebulous remarks and foist the entire mess onto the FBI, letting the Feds handle the goddamn mess.
Two days later Bobby discovered he won the bet.
Sam surfaced slowly from his dream world, his mind full of fantastical images. However none were fantastical as the current motel room’s décor. It was something straight out of the 70’s blaxploitation film. When he and Dean first opened the door, Sam half expected the theme song to Shaft to begin booming out of the radio. He wryly noted the room was only too appropriate for Dean since he already had the pimpmobile. Dean’s response was an eye roll and the one-fingered salute.
Wondering why Dean left so early for breakfast Sam stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was then he saw the reason for Dean’s early departure.
Across his forehead was the word ‘princess’ and underneath it ‘275 points’. Sam just knew Dean used a Sharpie to get his point across. Having no choice Sam dug into his duffel to find the Seuss-inspired wool beanie Dean bought for him as a gag gift. He would have to wear it until the ink finally came off.
Payback wasn’t going to be a bitch. It was going to be a raging bastard with shitty fashion sense.
Sam was looking for his wallet when he came across his father’s journal open to a new page with Dean’s writing. Out of curiosity he began reading the list of names Dean had scribbled.
1. Lucas Barr
2. Michael - better call and see how Asher’s doing.
3. Ben Braeden
Sam’s confusion did not dissipate as he reread the list. Why would Dean write down the names of the kids they met along the way? Then he remembered: Lake Manitoc.
“Name three children that you even know.” He had challenged Dean.
Since then Sam came to understand that Dean actually liked children, and probably preferred their company to some of the adults who crossed their path. And, surprisingly, they returned his affection wholeheartedly.
But this list was even more special. These kids lived because their lives came into contact with him and Dean. Sam added a fourth name:
4. Sam Winchester
Sam was going to hunt down Dean so he could kick dipshit’s ass across town. But not before he bought Dean some coffee. And, if available, maybe a reuben sandwich.
The End
Author's Notes:
The title is from this poem by Rudyard Kipling. I think both Dean and Sam could be that man, which is why I used it as the title for this story.
The therianthropes in this story are shapeshifters in that their natural form is what they are at night. And their human form is just a mask necessary to function in the modern world. As they grow older it's easier for them to remain 'human'. However, in their extreme youth and old age, their ability to control their shapeshifting is perilously weak, and it is very hard for them to assume their human form. This is why Abigail was sent to do the hunt for her father. If Dean stayed infected he would only be a half breed but any child he would have gotten with Abigail would be full-blooded.
Though I didn't outright say it, one of the Church's magical gifts allow them to draw strength from their enemy's fear. This is one of the reasons why they are also cannibalistic. They can survive on non-human diet, but a human prey satisifies all cravings so these particular therianthropes have no qualms about hunting and then consuming people.
And though I haven't personally responded to the posts, thanks for the encouragements! It does the muse good!!
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers up to season 3.02
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine yet.
Summary: Sam and Dean join Bobby on a desperate hunt for a creature that's been on a killing spree for decades. An act of betrayal turns the table and suddenly they become the hunted with Dean as the prize.
Sam startled himself awake, shouting Dean’s name.
Bobby grabbed him and gently pushed him back into bed. “It's okay, Sam. You’re safe now.”
“It took him, Bobby! We have to get him back!”
“Sam, we saw the mess. What it stole wasn’t Dean, it was just his corpse.”
“I don’t care! It…”
“Sam…”
“No, you’re going to listen to me!” Sam frantically struggled to get free of his friend. “It took his body. Why, Bobby? Why do that?”
“Maybe for a ritual or … oh damn, don’t make me say it,” Bobby said, fighting back sorrow and disgust.
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I unloaded two clips into it and it didn’t even slow the fucker down. It was like the bullets didn’t do any damage.”
“What are you saying?”
“Dean might be alive.”
“Sam, he used a Glock. You don’t use a Glock to miss.”
“Bobby, we have to find those things. That’s why we’re here to begin with, right? Now we’ll just have to work twice as fast. Please tell me Mac’s got something because if he doesn’t I’m going to waste the bastard for what he’s done.”
Bobby felt honest dread race through his veins. Sam meant it when he threatened to kill Mac. Now, more than ever, he shared Dean’s fear that Sam didn’t come back whole. This warrior fearlessly challenging his leadership was not the same young man introduced to him three years ago. No, this was a stranger with the potential to cause carnage and enough anger in him to not care.
He had no choice now. He had to find Dean if only to gain some semblance of control over Sam.
“All right. Can you walk?”
Sam nodded and quickly stood up. He asked, “What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
“Any reports of missing people?”
“None so far.”
“They’re up to something, Bobby. I know it. That’s why Dean did what he did. He knew something was wrong, really wrong. And being Dean he took the hardest road possible.”
“Now that I can believe.”
Sam followed Bobby to the den. Mac was sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and paperwork. He looked up at Sam, his face pale and sorrowful.
“I’m so…”
“Tell it to someone who gives a damn,” Sam barked, sounding exactly like his father. “What have you found?”
“They are shapeshifters, as we suspected, but older than I first thought.” Mac handed over a small book, its cover decorated with medieval religious iconography. “In the Middle Ages, certain areas of France were havens for these creatures. The local churches needed their help to guard their villages and towns so they indoctrinated them into their fold as protectors. They also gave their blessing so these things could do whatever necessary to defend them.
“It was peaceful for a while, but that changed as the Middle Ages came to an end. By the 1400’s they were hunted down as monsters or demons, with the Church usually leading the mob. The shapeshifters had no choice but to go underground. They're not like the shapeshifters we know. They had the Church’s blessing and magic gifted to them so they could rise again and again. Some of the stories say just one of those things could take out an entire marauding band in one night.”
“Perfect killers,” Sam flatly stated. “No wonder we didn’t do any damage.”
“I’d like to think we were lucky,” Mac agreed. “But something tells me it has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with your brother.”
Sam turned triumphantly to Bobby, “I told you.”
“You really think Dean might be alive?” Bobby asked doubtfully. “Even after what we found?”
Mac shrugged. “All I can say is I got a grocery list of ways these things can’t be killed and maybe Dean’s suicide attempt should be included. Look, they were out hunting us for a reason and that reason was Dean. They found him last night and took him. They exposed themselves, Bobby, and these things are incredibly secretive. That’s how they survived for so long.”
“When was the last time one was killed?”
“Seventy-six years ago. Believe it or not she was a makeup artist working for MGM. They were hunting the entire family but they only got the mother. Five hunters went in, only one got out alive.”
Sam paled visibly. “The child, was it a daughter or a son?”
“Daughter. Why?”
Bobby’s mouth dropped open. He turned to Sam, “You don’t think…”
“I swear, I’m going to slap a chastity belt on Dean when this is over.”
“That Carnegie broad?” Mac asked, “you think?”
“Dean has a history of attracting the wrong sort of women,” Sam said. “Though this one tops the goddamn list. We need to find her.”
“The general store,” Bobby said. “That’s where he met her.”
Dean slowly opened his eyes then immediately regretted doing so as he was blinded by bright sunlight. For a moment he drowned in confusion as he thought he was back at the lodge, and that his suicide attempt was nothing but a nightmare. But when he tried to move his arms he found otherwise.
He was shackled down to a steel-frame bed. With deliberate slowness Dean examined his surroundings. The room was decorated for a woman with luxurious tastes. Expensive perfume bottles littered an ornate vanity table, with a cluster of expensive handbags piled haphazardly on the bureau standing besides it. Dean gasped when he saw a bag sitting in front of the bureau. He recognized it.
“I see you feel better.”
Dean’s head snapped towards the doorway. He didn’t hear Abigail open the door. Where before her beauty inspired him, now all he felt was loathing. As she cautiously approached him Dean noticed her necklace and the medallion she used as a charm. He had overheard the argument back at the lodge and idly wondered how old it was.
With a theatrical sigh he sank back into the bed. “You know I blew out my brains so I wouldn’t end up here.”
“I noticed,” she replied sweetly.
“And that wasn’t big enough hint for you? Man, talk about thick.”
“If it helps any my mother set herself on fire, thinking that would free her. It didn’t work either.”
“Wow, and I thought my family had issues.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I’m guessing your father’s around.”
“He’s recuperating. Your brother wounded him terribly.”
“I hope he dies.”
“I doubt it.” Abigail answered breezily and sat down on an armchair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d say I have a bad headache but, honestly, that wouldn’t even begin to describe the pain.”
“Don’t worry, it will fade soon, and when the sun sets you won’t feel any pain at all.”
“What are you?” Dean asked. “Just curious.”
“We’re shapeshifters.” Abigail smiled again, “But not werewolves as you and your friends assumed.”
“I noticed silver didn’t work.”
“Consecrated silver even,” Abigail said and opened a box sitting on her beside table. She pulled out a handful of bullets.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean whispered.
“No,” she jingled them to make merry noises. “Good idea but useless when it comes to us.”
Dean blanched a little. “I’m not one of you yet.”
“Before the night is over you will be.”
“First kill, right?”
“Tradition that must be upheld for obvious reasons.”
“Well then you better finish me off ‘cause I…”
“Have no choice,” Abigail interrupted. “My blood is in your veins, Dean. When the night comes it will sing and you will fall. Not because it’s painful or degrading, but because it’s so sweet and liberating.”
Dean remembered the elation he felt the night before. He could still feel its echo inside his skull, humming like a long forgotten lullaby.
“That’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel tonight,” Abigail said as if she read his thoughts.
Dean looked at her, fear evident in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Abigail said. “So many things that you worry about will become trivialties.”
“What about all the people you killed? Are they just annoyances to you?”
“My father’s grown weak. He can’t hunt as well as he used to. So I bring food to him.”
“Is that why I’m here? To replace him?”
Abigail looked thoughtfully at Dean, “That’s part of it, yes. He knows you’ll do everything you can to protect me.”
“What makes him think I won’t end you the first chance I get?”
“You’ll have your answer tonight.”
“And I guarantee you won’t like it.”
“How can you be so sure, Dean?”
“Because I was raised to dust monsters like you.”
“So if you’re so willing to kill ‘monsters’ - what of your brother?”
“What about Sam?”
“What? You think those pitiful bullets could hurt someone like my father?” Abigail ruthlessly pressed through Dean’s anger and fear. “It was your brother’s blood that wounded him, Dean. We are of old magic, blessed by the Church. Demon blood is inimical to our existence, and your brother’s veins are tainted with it.”
“I suggest you go check your current status with the Church, darling ‘cause I’m pretty sure they have rules about cannibalism and ritual murder. Not to mention kidnapping and torture.”
“Torture?”
“You making me have a girly conversation with you. Not even Sammy could make me talk this much, and he’s been at it a lot longer than you.”
Abigail stood up, “I see this is making you uncomfortable. Get some rest. You’ll need your strength.”
Dean waited until he was sure she couldn’t hear his movements. Then he systematically began studying the shackles. They were old and rusted from disuse. Dean figured if the change last night had already affected him to the degree that he was still alive after putting a bullet in his skull, then odds were good that he was also physically stronger. He also wondered if he inherited some other superpowers. Feeling extremely foolish Dean began mentally sending SOS to his brother.
Sam’s earnest eyes and good manners easily won him the information he sought. Looking at Beth’s scribbled note he estimated it would take another thirty minutes of record-breaking driving to reach Dean. And they still lacked a decent plan to rescue his brother, as they were unable to come up with a plan to fight against the creatures and win.
“So, we’re just going to charge in there?” Mac asked cautiously.
“Don’t have anything better,” Bobby answered. “I want Plan B too, Mac, but we’re running out of time.”
“And Dean won’t stand for it,” Sam added. “He’ll do anything to get away and end up pissing them off. They’ll rip him apart.”
Bobby’s anxiety clawed its way higher in his throat. Sam was right, of course. And knowing Dean he’d probably decided to start early in pissing off his captors. That boy had a gift for getting himself ass-deep into dangerous situations.
Mac saw the dismissal from both men and began preparing for the hellish fight ahead of them. He loaded all the guns, including two shotguns, with consecrated rounds. He also blessed all the knives including Sam’s machete. For a moment he was tempted to coat the handle with holy water but refrained from doing so at the last moment.
He really didn’t want to know what the status of Sam’s soul was right in the middle of a life-or-death struggle. He also dipped the tips of his daggers in poison. There was no harm in having a backup.
The lake itself was moderately sized, but the houses surrounding it were anything but. Sam parked Mac’s truck far from view. The three men began making their way to the house, all quietly falling into their particular mode of hunting.
Sam noted the fancy speed boat bobbing next the dock and wondered if he could hotwire the damn thing for a quick getaway if the need arose.
Dean felt his entire body suddenly tighten as if he was about to go into seizure. The pain was bright when it burst inside his skull, momentarily disabling him. As he recovered from the attack Dean felt the change suddenly flow through him. Abigail was right; there was only elation and sweet euphoria. The shackles that held him disintegrated under his assault as he struggled free.
Dean turned to the window and saw the sun was slowly sinking. And with the encroaching night he sensed Abigail’s call. He had to respond. It was all-consuming imperative. With heedless abandon he ran out of the house, feeling the physical changes as his arms grew in girth and length. His clothes fell off his frame like streamers. The remnants of his boots trailed behind him as the hooves tore the soles right down the middle.
Abigail looked at Sam with avid interest. He had cleverly ambushed her while she was taking a stroll. “I wish we had more time to chat but I’m afraid the hour grows short.”
Sam didn’t waver as he stood his still with the shotgun pointed at Abigail’s head. “Where is Dean?”
“Resting I think,” she replied conversationally. “At least for your sake I hope he is. Because if he isn’t then you are about to put the final touches in my father’s plan.”
“What’s that?”
“Dean must spill innocent blood. And though yours is tainted it will have to do.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Gave him his heart’s desire.”
“I really don’t…”
“A family who needs and wants him forever and ever. A family who can truly appreciate all the sacrifices he'll make.” Abigail flatly stated. "Something you didn't do. Your and your father used him like a dog. And then disposed of him when he was of no further use to you."
"Where is he?" Sam repeated, his anger bleeding around the edges of his control.
"Here's your answer." A look of triumph washed over her face.
Sam suddenly heard the noise of bushes breaking apart.
“It was nice talking to you, Sam.” Abigail stepped back until she was out of the clearing.
A blur of tan and brown rushed towards Sam, smashing him against a tree. He collapsed to his knees then heard Dean charging again. He hastily rolled to his right only to find himself cornered by a boulder. Before he could get to his feet Dean was on top of him.
Sam couldn’t stop himself from crying out in horror. It was as if Dean’s face had melted and was in the spongy stage where the lightest pressure from his thumb could leave an imprint. Even his eye color had changed to murky brown. Dean raised his clawed right hand to strike. It was poised high above Sam’s head but didn’t slash down. Instead, it hovered.
Sam looked at his brother then, “Jesus, what did they do to you?”
The question startled the creature and it backed off. Sam hastily scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face.
“Dean, it’s me. We’ve come to get you out of here.”
The creature cocked its head, a move so reminiscent of Dean that Sam found himself hoping that he hadn’t lost his brother yet. “Yeah, we’re all here, Dean. We…”
“Need to realize it’s over,” Abigail interrupted.
Sam turned to woman just in time to catch the lightening-quick metamorphosis. She jumped on him, her claws frantically ripping through his thin winter jacket. Sam felt them tear into flesh before he even had a chance to react to the attack.
Dean jumped on Abigail, dragging her off of Sam. The younger Winchester didn’t waste time categorizing his wounds. Instead, Sam grabbed his shotgun and began firing. The shots slowed her down, but it was obvious she was determined to get to him. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed her by the midriff and began propelling her away from his brother.
Sam fired off five more rounds before Dean managed to steer Abigail to the dock. It was then Sam realized what Dean had planned. He began sprinting towards them but it was too late. With one mighty heave Dean threw himself at Abigail and both entered the lake with a huge splash.
Sam frantically searched the dark water, looking for his brother. When Dean didn’t emerge Sam dove in. He swam quickly, as the setting sun was all that provided light for his search. He quickly spotted Dean and Abigail resting at the muddy bottom. Sam had to use all his strength to pry Dean away from his companion as they were entwined like frightened children. After freeing Dean, Sam encircled his brother’s waist and began kicking towards the surface.
As he rose Sam saw his brother change as the sun’s dying light filtered through the water and lit Dean. To Sam’s shock Dean’s face began swiftly reforming into a familiar visage. The body also shrank so by the time Sam hit the surface he was holding Dean in his human form. He took great gulps of air and began swimming to the beach where Mac and Bobby waited. They rushed in when he was close enough and helped Sam drag Dean to safety.
“He’s breathing,” Bobby whispered after checking on Dean. “Lungs sound good.”
Sam wheezed, “The father?”
“Dead. We found him in his bed.”
“What killed him?”
“Haven’t a clue. Maybe something we used? Or a combination?” Mac answered. “We need to get out of here now.”
“Bobby … are there any survivors?”
The answer was a bleak negative. Mac got his truck and drove to the house to picked them up. Sam set the boat on fire to get attention. When the police arrived they would naturally look into the house whose front and back door Bobby left open. It wouldn’t be long before they smelled the putrefaction and searched the basement.
Sam tucked more blankets around Dean’s unconscious form. He wished he could’ve done more for the victims but at least they would find peace and their families a much needed closure.
Dean didn’t want to discuss what happened while he was held hostage. And Sam would’ve respected his decision had Dean at least tried to explain his suicide attempt. But his brother refused to even acknowledge the fact that he blew out his skull. Three days of meandering conversations peppered by stony silence slowly grated Sam’s patience until it was leaf-thin.
The fight erupted when either least expected it - while cleaning out the Impala’s backseat. Harsh words were thrown, accusations were pushed around until Dean’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his skull. Sam managed to grab his brother before he hit the ground. Like usual Dean had lied about his state of health and the exertion from the verbal war had weakened him. Sam was left to deal with the guilt, and when Dean came to, both decided to keep a fragile truce instead of revisiting the argument.
The détente stood until dinnertime when Sam made pasta and spinach salad to Dean’s great displeasure. Dean didn’t hesitate to complain and for a while Sam agreed with Dean’s ridiculous accusations, sounding exactly like a hen-pecked husband. That lasted until Dean tried to take over the kitchen in order to make his dinner since Sam had obviously neglected to consider Dean's needs.
“Like hell you are,” Sam snarled, grabbing the cooking utensils from Dean’s grasp. “You’re going to sit your ass down and eat with the rest of us. I made the fucking dinner especially for you.”
“I lost blood, not fat!” Dean snapped. “I need iron and that means meat!”
“Spinach has iron, you idiot! Will you stop being such a selfish asshole and sit down?”
“Me? I’m the selfish asshole? You’re the one who made dinner nobody likes!”
“Really? I’m selfish? Excuse me but I remember you taking off at the first sign of trouble, Dean. You didn’t stick around to see what anybody else had to say about your condition! No, the great fucking Dean Winchester has to go out like a man. Never mind his friends or his brother who would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to find a cure.
“The Great Dean Winchester has fucking decreed it so it must be law!”
“Where the hell is that coming from?”
“You shot yourself, you goddamn hypocrite!” Sam roared.
“Do you know why?”
“No, enlighten me!”
“So you don't have to! Because if you did, that would’ve been just another thing you’d use to torture yourself with. And I wasn’t about to let you use me to rip yourself apart, you jackass!”
“So you blew out your brains because you were looking out for me?”
“Yeah, you dipshit. I sure as fuck didn’t do it for my health!”
“I can’t believe you’re telling me you committed suicide in order to make me feel better.”
Dean paused for a moment before nodding. “Well … yeah.”
“And I’m the dipshit? I don’t know, Dean. From where I’m standing it looks like you cornered all the dipshit genes in the family.”
“Well, with your freakish height, no surprise. I mean the air’s gotta be pretty thin up there. No wonder your brain’s so damn slow sometimes.”
“Will you pups shut the hell up?!” Bobby bellowed from the den. “I can’t believe you’re upset because Sam’s pissed. You ate a bullet, Dean. That would upset even me! And you, Sam! This is the umpteenth time Dean made the ultimate sacrifice for you so shut up and be grateful! And let me enjoy my Mythbusters in peace. Jesus!!”
Sam chewed his lip continuously and glared at Dean while he sliced beef into strips and fried them in the pan. Dean gave a withering glance in return before recording their latest hunt into the journal.
Sam took couple of glances over his shoulder before saying, “So you think it was the water?”
Dean nodded, “Gotta be. There’s a lot of lore out there that says supernatural creatures can’t cross running water.”
“It’s a lake, Dean.”
“Second verse, same as the first.”
“And your cure?”
Dean hesitated, “I think my killing her had a lot to do with it. But, I honestly can’t tell if it was that or the lake that did the trick.”
“Don’t forget, you didn’t kill an innocent and all this happened before sunset.”
“I figured that too. What I don’t get is why the hell did they live next to the lake?”
“Maybe it was the safest place for them. Nobody would think their kind would make home next to the one thing that could destroy them. And because the father was getting on - it was a way for him to prepare for his death?”
“You mean just get up one day and go for the final swim?”
Sam shrugged, “Too many questions and not enough answers. We’re probably the only ones to have dealt with their kind this side of the Atlantic since World War II. It’ll probably be another seventy or even hundred years before they show up on the radar again.”
“Ain’t that a bitch?”
“What really puzzles me is how the father died. His autopsy report said it was some kind of hyperallergic reaction. But what could be so toxic to them? The silver? The iron? The holy water or the runes? Or combination maybe?”
“Who the fuck cares. The bastard’s dead. Good riddance,” Dean said curtly and continuing to write about the hunt, also adding few of his observations during the time of his infection. Sam caught the words ‘release’ ‘happiness’ ‘sense of belonging’ and wondered how much it took Dean to fight for and not against him.
Bobby joined them for dinner and they managed to have a civil conversation. Mac had left earlier with hurried farewells and good lucks. Sam was only too glad to see the hunter go as he was still nursing resentment regarding Mac’s betrayal. Bobby decided to stick around to see how the local law enforcement would tag this investigation. Dean bet a twenty it would go the serial killer route. Sam took the bet with his own prediction of a cult murder/suicide pact. Bobby guessed law enforcement would make nebulous remarks and foist the entire mess onto the FBI, letting the Feds handle the goddamn mess.
Two days later Bobby discovered he won the bet.
Sam surfaced slowly from his dream world, his mind full of fantastical images. However none were fantastical as the current motel room’s décor. It was something straight out of the 70’s blaxploitation film. When he and Dean first opened the door, Sam half expected the theme song to Shaft to begin booming out of the radio. He wryly noted the room was only too appropriate for Dean since he already had the pimpmobile. Dean’s response was an eye roll and the one-fingered salute.
Wondering why Dean left so early for breakfast Sam stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was then he saw the reason for Dean’s early departure.
Across his forehead was the word ‘princess’ and underneath it ‘275 points’. Sam just knew Dean used a Sharpie to get his point across. Having no choice Sam dug into his duffel to find the Seuss-inspired wool beanie Dean bought for him as a gag gift. He would have to wear it until the ink finally came off.
Payback wasn’t going to be a bitch. It was going to be a raging bastard with shitty fashion sense.
Sam was looking for his wallet when he came across his father’s journal open to a new page with Dean’s writing. Out of curiosity he began reading the list of names Dean had scribbled.
1. Lucas Barr
2. Michael - better call and see how Asher’s doing.
3. Ben Braeden
Sam’s confusion did not dissipate as he reread the list. Why would Dean write down the names of the kids they met along the way? Then he remembered: Lake Manitoc.
“Name three children that you even know.” He had challenged Dean.
Since then Sam came to understand that Dean actually liked children, and probably preferred their company to some of the adults who crossed their path. And, surprisingly, they returned his affection wholeheartedly.
But this list was even more special. These kids lived because their lives came into contact with him and Dean. Sam added a fourth name:
4. Sam Winchester
Sam was going to hunt down Dean so he could kick dipshit’s ass across town. But not before he bought Dean some coffee. And, if available, maybe a reuben sandwich.
The End
Author's Notes:
The title is from this poem by Rudyard Kipling. I think both Dean and Sam could be that man, which is why I used it as the title for this story.
The therianthropes in this story are shapeshifters in that their natural form is what they are at night. And their human form is just a mask necessary to function in the modern world. As they grow older it's easier for them to remain 'human'. However, in their extreme youth and old age, their ability to control their shapeshifting is perilously weak, and it is very hard for them to assume their human form. This is why Abigail was sent to do the hunt for her father. If Dean stayed infected he would only be a half breed but any child he would have gotten with Abigail would be full-blooded.
Though I didn't outright say it, one of the Church's magical gifts allow them to draw strength from their enemy's fear. This is one of the reasons why they are also cannibalistic. They can survive on non-human diet, but a human prey satisifies all cravings so these particular therianthropes have no qualms about hunting and then consuming people.
And though I haven't personally responded to the posts, thanks for the encouragements! It does the muse good!!