Blood Wolf Moons Chapter 8
Sux to be Phillip then, doesn't it?
Only a day late. Day late and a dollar short.
Phillip no owney, but Phillip wantey.
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 1,763
Title:
Sam couldn’t believe his eyes; it seemed that these two were willing to use force if that meant keeping Dean here. Right about now Sam was really regretting the decision to stop at this clinic, not that they'd had a whole lot of choice in the matter. In the back of his mind, he wondered if all small clinics out west were all so creepy or if they were just lucky and managed to pick the only one.
The four stopped with Dean just about pressed against the front desk. The doctor and nurse flanked the two brothers. Anyone looking in from the outside would have been able to see the maneuvers for what they were, an ambush. “You see, the rabies shots need to be taken over a time period of a month, how are we going to know if your brother is getting the treatment he needs?” The doctor stopped just short of reaching out and yanking Sam away from Dean.
Sam was running out of time, the longer they stayed the more their chance to escape shrank. Sam released Dean, turning with his arms slightly spread, shielding Dean from his two antagonists. It was the only thing he could think of to do besides ram the two and run out the door.
Overall, that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. What happened next caught Sam completely by surprise. Out of all the people he expected to make the first move in their little Mexican Standoff Dean was on the bottom of the list. For the third time in about as many hours Dean came to Sam’s rescue, though Sam could have picked a better way to pull this one off.
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The wood of the front desk bit painfully into Dean’s thighs as Sam tried to become a human shield. Dean could tell that they were in a bad situation and that there were very few options for escape left to them. They needed a miracle, preferably one that could be easily accessible and would give them a direct path to the door.
Sam’s body was pressed tight up against him, and if their situation wasn't what it was, Dean probably would have been very uneasy about their body postures. What with the insinuations that could be made against his masculinity. Dean pulled his mind away from such thoughts. That was the last place he should let his mind wander, it was unhelpful and just plain wrong.
Sam pressed even harder into Dean, forcing him to bend slightly and place his uninjured arm on the desk behind him. Still wracking his befuddled mind for a way out, Dean’s hand came upon something that gave him what seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. He grabbed the smooth piece of metal, not even looking at it before acting. He relyied mainly on instinct that this would work. He tried to ignore the sudden urges to use all of his force and jab down on the object, letting free the red, hot life bubbling just under the surface of Sam’s skin.
--
The cool metal object slid up the side of Sam’s neck and pressed, creating a dimple in his skin just above his jugular. This was something unexpected. The masks of simpering helpfulness dropped suddenly from the faces of both the nurse and doctor, being replaced by actual looks of shock and surprise.
Sam was afraid to swallow, Dean pressed the object so tightly against his skin that any movement brought the tip closer to breaking the tender flesh of his neck. Dean’s breath was like a blast from a furnace next to Sam’s ear. “I want ya to get me that shot now, an’ then let my brother and I leave.”
The doctor nodded, signaling to the nurse to go grab the shot. She hurriedly placed the prescriptions she was holding on the floor and ran. “Pay them and then we can go.”
Sam could have easily broken out of Dean’s one armed grip, but there was a steely edge cutting through the huskiness in Dean’s voice that put Sam on edge. He wasn’t sure if Dean was just trying to pretend to hold him hostage or if the fever really had caused his brother to loose his mind.
Slowly, Sam reached his hand down to his pocket, when his wallet caught on the fabric of his jeans he felt the object Dean had in his hand press down harder and the first little bit of blood well out from the tear. The hilt of the knife and the edge of Dean’s hand were still visible in the bottom of Sam’s line of sight. The way Dean was holding what Sam could only think of as a slightly dull knife brought all the pressure down on the pointed tip. His brother was not going to slice his throat, the angle for that would have made it too easy for Sam to break free. No, Dean would not slice his throat, but Sam was not sure about stabbing.
The nurse returned with the shot, which she handed to the doctor. For the first time that night, Sam could see the uncertainty in their eyes. This was something that they weren't expecting.
Dean’s left arm was already partially exposed; the werewolf had torn the material, its fangs shredding both fabric and skin alike. The doctor had also cut the tattered parts off before he began stitching, leaving one sleeve of Dean’s shirt long and the other short. This was the arm that Dean wanted them to put the shot in now. Never loosening his grip on the knife as the wide bore of the needle slid in deep, fist drawing blood back into the barrel and then letting its thick, liquid contents mix with whatever else was being carried in Dean’s blood.
This must have been painful, but Dean showed no sign other than flinching slightly and hitching in his breath giving Sam a temporary reprieve from the knife.
Sam handed the doctor whatever cash was in his wallet, not bothering to count it. The doctor didn’t either. The nurse picked up the prescriptions from the floor and hastily shoved them into Sam’s hands. When the nurse came close, Sam felt Dean push the tip deeper. If Dean wasn’t careful, Sam was going to start a new trend with piercing, if he survived.
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Dean backed them out the door, never turning his back on the doctor or nurse. He could only hope that they wouldn’t memorize the Impala's license plates. He didn’t know if there was another phone deeper in the building, but he didn’t doubt that if there was that the nurse had used it.
Backing out the door they came in was harder than it looked. Dean was feeling woozy, like a ship in heavy storm, he figured it was the combination of the rabies shot and painkillers. He wasn’t too worried about Sam if he fell, he had pulled the point of the object away from his younger brother’s throat, giving Sam enough room to move out of the way, but still close enough so that the doctor wouldn’t be able to tell that Sam wasn’t in much danger anymore.
What worried Dean was the amount of will power it took him to pull the object away. Without seeing, Dean knew the tip of the object had drawn blood and there was a part of him, recently awoken, that wished for Dean to cause more blood. It wanted Dean not only poke, but tear, rend and shred Sam’s throat with the object in his hand. Just for the sheer joy of killing. He could hear it jabbering to him, using his voice, Dean could imagine this part of him drooling and slobbering as it thought of all the blood that Sam’s veins contained.
Finally, the door closed behind them, putting a protective sheet of glass between them and the pale faces of the doctor and nurse. Oddly enough, once the brothers began making their careful way out of the building, the doctor seemed to become more angry than fearful. It wasn’t the anger that comes after being surprised with a deadly weapon, he seemed angry in the way that people get angry when they are close to gaining something that just slips through their fingers.
Dean released his hold on Sam when he felt the safety afforded by the side of the Impala. He glanced down at the object he used to take his younger brother hostage for the first time; it was an antique letter opener, the kind that was made to look like a dagger. The hilt was decorated with wolves; Dean ignored the irony, his eyes sliding down the hilt to the blade. Rather dull, but the red sheen to his eyes making it appear as if it were covered in blood, Sam’s blood. The tip, Dean saw was dark, almost black, there was only a tiny amount of blood on the blade. Dean felt the need to throw the object away from him in horror. He used it to draw the blood of his younger brother, whom he had sworn since the age of four when his father entrusted him with the precious burden to protect with his life.
Unsteadily he turned and looked at Sam, his eyes painting his younger brother in blood crimson. Through all the red, Dean could still make out the point in Sam’s neck where he had tried to stab the blade through. The new, savage part of him whined when it saw that the tear was not bigger, the hole not deeper. Dean’s head swam, he couldn’t believe what he had just done, he felt sick. Not Sammy, how could he have done something to intentionally injure Sammy? With a stab of guilt, Dean realized he was trying not just to injure, but to kill Sammy. It was the overwhelming need to get away added to the love of his brother that allowed Dean the strength he needed to control his urge to kill.
It was a lucky thing that Sam had just opened the Impala’s door, trying to guide Dean inside before the distant police sirens became blaringly loud. With a cry of revulsion, Dean’s knees came unhinged as red tinged tears began to fall from his eyes. Sam barely had time to catch him, guiding him into the open door before Dean could hit the ground. The infection was spreading fast this time if the animal inside Dean was already awake to that extent.