Fic: "Hunters" yeah, lame, I know.
Ha, you know what I did? I thought that there weren't nearly enough women hunters around and that I would write one (also, to stop my characters being carbon copies of Dean and Sam) but I forgot quite how Mary-Sueish that can look from the outside *smacks head*.
Also, smeckles90, ready to start playing Spot-the-Winchester?
Title: Hunters
Rating: PG13
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean, John, OMC, OFC. Pairing-free.
Notes: ~2,400 words. Sequel to Instict and Protection. That means werewolf!Winchesters.
Disclaimers: Not mine, making no money.
Summary: First they're hunting a wendigo, then they're hunting werewolves, and they don't even manage to kill anything! This is just one screwed up hunt.
Arthur was an idiot.
This was in no way a new concept. In fact, first time she'd seen him she was six years old and he was trying to eat his own foot. Sandy's first thought had been 'my brother is an idiot'. After a few years that was extended to 'my brother is an idiot and will be until the day he dies', which eventually evolved into Sandy's current thought, that being 'my brother is an idiot and will be until the day he dies, which is going to be pretty goddamn soon at this rate'.
Really, there were idiots, then there were idiots. It took a special (and special really is the word for it) kind of person to think that diving head-first into a hunt for a wendigo was a good idea. That is, if Arthur had actually thought anything at all, which it was entirely possible that he hadn't, seeing as he was such an idiot and all.
So, Sandy was driving somewhere in the region of twice the speed limit to get to her brother and either back him up or drag him back, depending on how stubborn he was feeling. Her heart had been beating fit to burst right out of her chest ever since she saw the note that honest-to-god said 'It's a wendigo, be back soon'. That kind of thing is all well and good if it's a mildly irritated spirit you're going after and you're freakishly good at digging graves (as Arthur is). But what part of expert hunter did Arthur not get? Had he glossed over the part where it said that wendigoes are incredibly hard to kill in the daytime and practically impossible to kill at night? Sandy could answer that question. Yes, yes he had glossed over that. Otherwise he wouldn't have shot off at twenty minutes to midnight to go kill a wendigo. At least, Sandy hoped that was the case because she really didn't want to be related to someone quite as idiotic as all that.
Sandy screeched the car to a halt in a small car park just off the road, barely missing her brother's car by inches, though it would serve him right if she had hit it, dammit. She scrambled out of the car, grabbing the duffel full of weapons and flashlight from the passenger seat as she went and then set off down the path. She sincerely hoped Arthur had at least stuck to the path because this was a huge forest and she was pretty sure the wendigo had better tracking skills that she did.
It took half an hour, half an hour Sandy did not want to ever have to go through again, but she finally saw him up ahead.
“Arthur!” she shouted. Arthur turned and stared at her, face white in the beam of her flashlight.
“Sandy! What the fuck?” he said eventually in a hushed voice.
“What the fuck yourself!” Sandy started making her way over to him.
“Stop fucking shouting!”
“Stop being such a fucking idiot!”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kidding me? You came out here alone. You're hunting a wendigo. You're hunting a wendigo alone. At night. Is there something loose in your head?” Arthur had nothing to say in retaliation, which figured. She grabbed his arm (hard enough to leave a bruise, she hoped). “We're going back.” Arthur struggled against her grip.
“No we're not!”
“What do you mean 'no we're not'? Yes we fucking are!”
“I heard noises up ahead, I think we're close.”
“You heard noises? Jesus, Arthur, that's how it lures its prey in!”
“But we're not prey, we know--” Arthur was cut off by a howl off to the North that sounded alarmingly close.
“You're sure it's a wendigo?”
“Yeah... yeah, there aren't any remains to be found and there's a network of caves that it can use for storage. And, you know, it moves too fast to be seen and only takes people that have got a lot of meat on them.” And somehow, knowing all this, Arthur had thought it a good idea to go after it in the dead of night. Sandy tried to remember back to see if anyone had dropped him on his head as a baby.
“So what's with the wolf howl?”
“Wendigoes can sound like anything they want to.”
“But why a wolf?”
“I don't know.” Arthur grinned at her mischievously. “But it's definitely luring me in.” He turned off the path and started walking North towards the howl. Sandy followed, muttering about idiot brothers and pondering on the best method of haunting once he inevitably got her killed with his stupidity.
Ten minutes of nothing later there was another howl off to the West, followed shortly by another to the North. That was incredibly unnerving because wendigoes couldn't move that fast, could they? If that was so then they were even more screwed than Sandy had originally thought. She was turning every which way, sure that they were about to be leapt on any second. Arthur stilled her with a hand on her shoulder and indicated North-West. Sandy listened.
“Mommy!” came a broken cry. Ah, fuck. Arthur set off towards it immediately and it took a few steps for Sandy catch up with him and bring him to a halt.
“What if it's the wendigo?”
“What if it's not the wendigo?”
“What weapons have you got?” Arthur slipped his backpack off and pulled out a bottle with cloth stuffed in the top.
“Molotov cocktails?” Arthur nodded. “That's it?”
“You can only kill it with fire.”
“What? Well then this whole bag is completely useless!” All the same, she tucked a .45 into the back of her pants and got out a shotgun, feeling much safer with them than without them. They slowly approached where it sounded like there was a small girl sniffing and crying, Arthur with his lighter and one of the bottles at the ready.
All of a sudden there was a sharp bark and then a hell of a lot of growling, followed by the shriek of a young girl. They both rushed forward until the shriek turned into a noise no human could make. They came to a stop just outside of a small clearing.
“Holy shit,” Sandy breathed. Arthur was speechless.
In the clearing was the unmistakable shape of a wendigo being attacked by what appeared to be two men. But that couldn't be right because no two men in the world could take on a wendigo in hand-to-hand combat and come out on top like these two were. Jesus Christ, they'd just ripped its arm off!
The wendigo was screeching and screaming and the two men-things were growling constantly. They backed off together at some unseen signal and circled their prey. The wendigo tried to lash out at them but its aim was off. Sandy suppressed the urge to shine her flashlight into the clearing to get a better idea of what was going on.
One of the man-things leapt at the wendigo's neck from behind, shortly followed by the other coming at the neck from the front. Together they brought it down and once it was on the ground they really laid into it and wendigo body parts flew all over the clearing. They stopped at exactly the same time, as though they shared a brain, and turned towards where Arthur and Sandy were crouched. The slightly larger one growled and it was quite blatantly growling at them. Well, shit.
Arthur, being his usual forward-thinking self, leapt out brandishing his lighter and Molotov cocktail before Sandy could explain that it was a bad idea. Or knock him out, both would work. The second thing started growling at this point. Considering they hadn't already leapt at her brother and started ripping him limb from limb as they were clearly able to, Sandy was prepared to take it as a warning rather than a provocation.
“Arthur, what the fuck do you think you're doing, you dipshit?” Arthur ignored her. Sandy grabbed her flashlight and shone it into the faces of the man-things, partially to dazzle them, partially so she'd know what she was going to be killed by when Arthur eventually screwed everything up.
Werewolves. Growling, snarling werewolves showing off their great big, fuck off, dripping-with-blood teeth. She heard Arthur swear under his breath.
“Arthur, get right the fuck back here!” Arthur glanced at her, which she'd kill him for, taking his eye off the enemy like that. That was, if their enemy didn't do it for her. Surprisingly enough, they didn't. Their growling even died down.
“Have you got anything silver in that bag?”
“No. And even if I did, we're not taking on two werewolves!”
“We haven't got a choice!”
“They haven't attacked us yet. So far they've just stood there--”
“--growling,” Arthur helpfully added.
“--whatever. I'm not shooting until they actually start attacking.” Mostly because she didn't have any silver bullets and shooting a werewolf with something that wasn't silver would be a pretty desperate last-ditch attempt.
The larger werewolf put its hand (paw? Claw?) on the other's shoulder and nodded towards the forest behind them. The other one nodded like it was agreeing with something and backed off, giving a last sharp bark before turning and disappearing into the forest at the other side of the clearing.
Sandy came forward cautiously so she was standing next to Arthur and they glanced each other. The remaining werewolf's growling trailed off completely as it backed off. It backed far enough into the forest that they could forget it was there if they were at all inclined to. Which they weren't.
They both came forward enough to look over the bloody mess that was the wendigo. It was still twitching. That was completely disgusting.
“Only fire can kill it,” Arthur said quietly, unplugging the top of the bottle he still had in his hands and pouring the contents over the wendigo. Sandy got out another bottle and did the same then stood back for Arthur to set it alight.
Arthur did so, barely escaping being set alight himself. For the first time that night it was possible for them to see clearly without their flashlights. Sandy spotted an errant wendigo arm and threw it on their gruesome bonfire.
It also meant that they could see the werewolf watching them. It didn't back any further into the forest, it just stayed and watched them, even as the blood dried on its face and clothes. Its eyes reflected the orange firelight back at them and made it look even more creepy. In fact, if it were just Sandy out here on her own, she couldn't say for certain that she wouldn't run screaming from its piercing gaze (which was not something that Arthur needed to know). She stared it out, which was possibly not the best thing to do when faced with a werewolf, but she didn't want to look elsewhere. She just wanted it to leave or attack, just do something because waiting really sucked.
It did neither. Instead the second werewolf returned, bringing with it a third, smaller, younger one. Sandy's eyes widened, but was prepared to let them go (ha! Like she could stop them!) so long as they didn't attack first. What didn't help the situation, was Arthur cocking his gun and, presumably (Sandy still wasn't taking her eyes off the werewolves), aiming it right at them. The original two werewolves pushed the younger one behind them and hunched forward, ready to spring out of the forest, growling and snarling like rabid dogs. And was it the shadows, or did they actually look bigger?
Sandy grabbed the barrel of her brother's gun and forced it to point at the floor. Well, that did something; the werewolves didn't look quite so rage-filled, but still a lot more rage-filled than you'd want any werewolf to look. They didn't look quite convinced that they should let Sandy and Arthur live. Sandy needed to diffuse the situation and she needed to act fast.
“Sorry about my brother!” she called out, wondering what exactly she thought she was doing, “He's a complete moron!” To Sandy's astonishment the werewolves relaxed and returned to their previous stances. The youngest pushed its way to the front with a slightly unnerving grin (though were they in any other time and place and were the little one not wolfed-out, she would have called it adorable). It - quite cheerfully, it seemed - barked at her, earning itself a smack upside the head for its trouble. It elbowed back and was then pulled into a headlock by... it had to be its older brother. Sandy had pulled that move often enough to know it when she saw it. It was usually followed by a noogie. Did werewolves noogie one another?
No, apparently not, because the little one bit its brother's arm and after a whole lot of grappling and biting that was too fast for her to see properly and should've been too hard for any boy that age to manage, they were rolling on the floor having a wrestling match. Sandy was pretty sure she was going to start catching flies soon, the way her mouth was hanging open. The gun jerked in her grip, but Sandy kept it aimed at the floor. Arthur was not going to get them killed tonight. Tonight he was just going to let the werewolves go, the idiot.
The oldest of the werewolves looked like it sighed and... rolled its eyes? Do werewolves do that? Then it barked and the other two were up and on their feet as if they hadn't been rolling around on the ground just a moment before, though they had twigs in their hair to prove it. The family of werewolves skirted around the edge of the clearing and melted into the darkness, leaving Sandy and Arthur blinking at each other, quite shocked.
“So,” said Arthur after a while, “Are we done here? Can we go home?”
“Are you kidding? There are three werewolves out there! I'm not going anywhere till morning!”
The End.
Yes, yes, I know, next time I'll actually write something about the Winchesters being werewolves and not some outside PoV.
Another sequel! Except that it comes before this one.
Also, smeckles90, ready to start playing Spot-the-Winchester?
Title: Hunters
Rating: PG13
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean, John, OMC, OFC. Pairing-free.
Notes: ~2,400 words. Sequel to Instict and Protection. That means werewolf!Winchesters.
Disclaimers: Not mine, making no money.
Summary: First they're hunting a wendigo, then they're hunting werewolves, and they don't even manage to kill anything! This is just one screwed up hunt.
Arthur was an idiot.
This was in no way a new concept. In fact, first time she'd seen him she was six years old and he was trying to eat his own foot. Sandy's first thought had been 'my brother is an idiot'. After a few years that was extended to 'my brother is an idiot and will be until the day he dies', which eventually evolved into Sandy's current thought, that being 'my brother is an idiot and will be until the day he dies, which is going to be pretty goddamn soon at this rate'.
Really, there were idiots, then there were idiots. It took a special (and special really is the word for it) kind of person to think that diving head-first into a hunt for a wendigo was a good idea. That is, if Arthur had actually thought anything at all, which it was entirely possible that he hadn't, seeing as he was such an idiot and all.
So, Sandy was driving somewhere in the region of twice the speed limit to get to her brother and either back him up or drag him back, depending on how stubborn he was feeling. Her heart had been beating fit to burst right out of her chest ever since she saw the note that honest-to-god said 'It's a wendigo, be back soon'. That kind of thing is all well and good if it's a mildly irritated spirit you're going after and you're freakishly good at digging graves (as Arthur is). But what part of expert hunter did Arthur not get? Had he glossed over the part where it said that wendigoes are incredibly hard to kill in the daytime and practically impossible to kill at night? Sandy could answer that question. Yes, yes he had glossed over that. Otherwise he wouldn't have shot off at twenty minutes to midnight to go kill a wendigo. At least, Sandy hoped that was the case because she really didn't want to be related to someone quite as idiotic as all that.
Sandy screeched the car to a halt in a small car park just off the road, barely missing her brother's car by inches, though it would serve him right if she had hit it, dammit. She scrambled out of the car, grabbing the duffel full of weapons and flashlight from the passenger seat as she went and then set off down the path. She sincerely hoped Arthur had at least stuck to the path because this was a huge forest and she was pretty sure the wendigo had better tracking skills that she did.
It took half an hour, half an hour Sandy did not want to ever have to go through again, but she finally saw him up ahead.
“Arthur!” she shouted. Arthur turned and stared at her, face white in the beam of her flashlight.
“Sandy! What the fuck?” he said eventually in a hushed voice.
“What the fuck yourself!” Sandy started making her way over to him.
“Stop fucking shouting!”
“Stop being such a fucking idiot!”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kidding me? You came out here alone. You're hunting a wendigo. You're hunting a wendigo alone. At night. Is there something loose in your head?” Arthur had nothing to say in retaliation, which figured. She grabbed his arm (hard enough to leave a bruise, she hoped). “We're going back.” Arthur struggled against her grip.
“No we're not!”
“What do you mean 'no we're not'? Yes we fucking are!”
“I heard noises up ahead, I think we're close.”
“You heard noises? Jesus, Arthur, that's how it lures its prey in!”
“But we're not prey, we know--” Arthur was cut off by a howl off to the North that sounded alarmingly close.
“You're sure it's a wendigo?”
“Yeah... yeah, there aren't any remains to be found and there's a network of caves that it can use for storage. And, you know, it moves too fast to be seen and only takes people that have got a lot of meat on them.” And somehow, knowing all this, Arthur had thought it a good idea to go after it in the dead of night. Sandy tried to remember back to see if anyone had dropped him on his head as a baby.
“So what's with the wolf howl?”
“Wendigoes can sound like anything they want to.”
“But why a wolf?”
“I don't know.” Arthur grinned at her mischievously. “But it's definitely luring me in.” He turned off the path and started walking North towards the howl. Sandy followed, muttering about idiot brothers and pondering on the best method of haunting once he inevitably got her killed with his stupidity.
Ten minutes of nothing later there was another howl off to the West, followed shortly by another to the North. That was incredibly unnerving because wendigoes couldn't move that fast, could they? If that was so then they were even more screwed than Sandy had originally thought. She was turning every which way, sure that they were about to be leapt on any second. Arthur stilled her with a hand on her shoulder and indicated North-West. Sandy listened.
“Mommy!” came a broken cry. Ah, fuck. Arthur set off towards it immediately and it took a few steps for Sandy catch up with him and bring him to a halt.
“What if it's the wendigo?”
“What if it's not the wendigo?”
“What weapons have you got?” Arthur slipped his backpack off and pulled out a bottle with cloth stuffed in the top.
“Molotov cocktails?” Arthur nodded. “That's it?”
“You can only kill it with fire.”
“What? Well then this whole bag is completely useless!” All the same, she tucked a .45 into the back of her pants and got out a shotgun, feeling much safer with them than without them. They slowly approached where it sounded like there was a small girl sniffing and crying, Arthur with his lighter and one of the bottles at the ready.
All of a sudden there was a sharp bark and then a hell of a lot of growling, followed by the shriek of a young girl. They both rushed forward until the shriek turned into a noise no human could make. They came to a stop just outside of a small clearing.
“Holy shit,” Sandy breathed. Arthur was speechless.
In the clearing was the unmistakable shape of a wendigo being attacked by what appeared to be two men. But that couldn't be right because no two men in the world could take on a wendigo in hand-to-hand combat and come out on top like these two were. Jesus Christ, they'd just ripped its arm off!
The wendigo was screeching and screaming and the two men-things were growling constantly. They backed off together at some unseen signal and circled their prey. The wendigo tried to lash out at them but its aim was off. Sandy suppressed the urge to shine her flashlight into the clearing to get a better idea of what was going on.
One of the man-things leapt at the wendigo's neck from behind, shortly followed by the other coming at the neck from the front. Together they brought it down and once it was on the ground they really laid into it and wendigo body parts flew all over the clearing. They stopped at exactly the same time, as though they shared a brain, and turned towards where Arthur and Sandy were crouched. The slightly larger one growled and it was quite blatantly growling at them. Well, shit.
Arthur, being his usual forward-thinking self, leapt out brandishing his lighter and Molotov cocktail before Sandy could explain that it was a bad idea. Or knock him out, both would work. The second thing started growling at this point. Considering they hadn't already leapt at her brother and started ripping him limb from limb as they were clearly able to, Sandy was prepared to take it as a warning rather than a provocation.
“Arthur, what the fuck do you think you're doing, you dipshit?” Arthur ignored her. Sandy grabbed her flashlight and shone it into the faces of the man-things, partially to dazzle them, partially so she'd know what she was going to be killed by when Arthur eventually screwed everything up.
Werewolves. Growling, snarling werewolves showing off their great big, fuck off, dripping-with-blood teeth. She heard Arthur swear under his breath.
“Arthur, get right the fuck back here!” Arthur glanced at her, which she'd kill him for, taking his eye off the enemy like that. That was, if their enemy didn't do it for her. Surprisingly enough, they didn't. Their growling even died down.
“Have you got anything silver in that bag?”
“No. And even if I did, we're not taking on two werewolves!”
“We haven't got a choice!”
“They haven't attacked us yet. So far they've just stood there--”
“--growling,” Arthur helpfully added.
“--whatever. I'm not shooting until they actually start attacking.” Mostly because she didn't have any silver bullets and shooting a werewolf with something that wasn't silver would be a pretty desperate last-ditch attempt.
The larger werewolf put its hand (paw? Claw?) on the other's shoulder and nodded towards the forest behind them. The other one nodded like it was agreeing with something and backed off, giving a last sharp bark before turning and disappearing into the forest at the other side of the clearing.
Sandy came forward cautiously so she was standing next to Arthur and they glanced each other. The remaining werewolf's growling trailed off completely as it backed off. It backed far enough into the forest that they could forget it was there if they were at all inclined to. Which they weren't.
They both came forward enough to look over the bloody mess that was the wendigo. It was still twitching. That was completely disgusting.
“Only fire can kill it,” Arthur said quietly, unplugging the top of the bottle he still had in his hands and pouring the contents over the wendigo. Sandy got out another bottle and did the same then stood back for Arthur to set it alight.
Arthur did so, barely escaping being set alight himself. For the first time that night it was possible for them to see clearly without their flashlights. Sandy spotted an errant wendigo arm and threw it on their gruesome bonfire.
It also meant that they could see the werewolf watching them. It didn't back any further into the forest, it just stayed and watched them, even as the blood dried on its face and clothes. Its eyes reflected the orange firelight back at them and made it look even more creepy. In fact, if it were just Sandy out here on her own, she couldn't say for certain that she wouldn't run screaming from its piercing gaze (which was not something that Arthur needed to know). She stared it out, which was possibly not the best thing to do when faced with a werewolf, but she didn't want to look elsewhere. She just wanted it to leave or attack, just do something because waiting really sucked.
It did neither. Instead the second werewolf returned, bringing with it a third, smaller, younger one. Sandy's eyes widened, but was prepared to let them go (ha! Like she could stop them!) so long as they didn't attack first. What didn't help the situation, was Arthur cocking his gun and, presumably (Sandy still wasn't taking her eyes off the werewolves), aiming it right at them. The original two werewolves pushed the younger one behind them and hunched forward, ready to spring out of the forest, growling and snarling like rabid dogs. And was it the shadows, or did they actually look bigger?
Sandy grabbed the barrel of her brother's gun and forced it to point at the floor. Well, that did something; the werewolves didn't look quite so rage-filled, but still a lot more rage-filled than you'd want any werewolf to look. They didn't look quite convinced that they should let Sandy and Arthur live. Sandy needed to diffuse the situation and she needed to act fast.
“Sorry about my brother!” she called out, wondering what exactly she thought she was doing, “He's a complete moron!” To Sandy's astonishment the werewolves relaxed and returned to their previous stances. The youngest pushed its way to the front with a slightly unnerving grin (though were they in any other time and place and were the little one not wolfed-out, she would have called it adorable). It - quite cheerfully, it seemed - barked at her, earning itself a smack upside the head for its trouble. It elbowed back and was then pulled into a headlock by... it had to be its older brother. Sandy had pulled that move often enough to know it when she saw it. It was usually followed by a noogie. Did werewolves noogie one another?
No, apparently not, because the little one bit its brother's arm and after a whole lot of grappling and biting that was too fast for her to see properly and should've been too hard for any boy that age to manage, they were rolling on the floor having a wrestling match. Sandy was pretty sure she was going to start catching flies soon, the way her mouth was hanging open. The gun jerked in her grip, but Sandy kept it aimed at the floor. Arthur was not going to get them killed tonight. Tonight he was just going to let the werewolves go, the idiot.
The oldest of the werewolves looked like it sighed and... rolled its eyes? Do werewolves do that? Then it barked and the other two were up and on their feet as if they hadn't been rolling around on the ground just a moment before, though they had twigs in their hair to prove it. The family of werewolves skirted around the edge of the clearing and melted into the darkness, leaving Sandy and Arthur blinking at each other, quite shocked.
“So,” said Arthur after a while, “Are we done here? Can we go home?”
“Are you kidding? There are three werewolves out there! I'm not going anywhere till morning!”
The End.
Yes, yes, I know, next time I'll actually write something about the Winchesters being werewolves and not some outside PoV.
Another sequel! Except that it comes before this one.