Too Little Too Late [2/3]
Back when I started writing this story, I didn’t really consider the possibility that I could convince my readers that the skin-walker was actually Dean. It wasn’t until my editor read the first chapter, and was so shocked by Mackland’s reaction to Dean, that I actually wanted it to work out that way.
I want to thank all of you for your kind support; I hope you enjoy the next chapter! I thought it would be the end, but it looks like we’re going into a third chapter. Thanks again!
Too Little Too Late [chapter 1]
Title: Too Little Too Late
Show: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Brotherhood AU
Characters: John, Dean [age 19] Sam [age 15]
Brotherhood: Mackland Ames, Caleb Reaves [age 27]
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or the Brotherhood
Summary: -Brotherhood AU/Pre-Series- Caleb has gone missing while on the hunt for a werewolf, and Sam is desperate to find his friend. But they don't know where to begin looking.
John had a gun in hand, as he came up next to Mackland, “Are you sure?” he demanded gruffly.
“Mac you know me!” the creature pleaded fear showing on Dean’s face as he looked imploringly from Sam to John. “Dad tell him, it’s me!”
Mackland pulled a hand down his face, and released a shaky breath. The images he’d glimpsed were still so sharp in his mind; the darkness that surrounded Dean hadn’t been enough to disguise the blood.
“Dean’s out there with Caleb,” he said firmly. There was no doubt in Mackland’s mind that the creature before them was an imposter an amazing replica of Dean.
Sam gasped off to his left, “That’s why you wanted to know,” the fifteen year-old said slowly, expression stunned as he took a step towards Dean.
“Sam,” Dean’s voice cracked painfully, “He’s wrong!”
“Know what?” the Scholar asked sharply.
Sam was silent for a minute just staring at the creature who had stolen Dean’s face. “He wanted to know if I ever wondered why the creatures kill,” he explained, finally pulling his eyes away to glance between his father and Mackland.
“This is what I get for trying to have a serious conversation?” the tone was incredulous the voice so obviously Dean’s. “Sam,” he barked the name, “Last week Monday you got into a fight at school, I covered it for you!”
Sam’s eyes went wide and he looked up at Mac his expression unsure, “How does he know that?”
“Shapeshifter Sam,” John said grimly glancing at his youngest, “It’s what they do.” From inside his coat John produced a silver knife, and Mac saw the creature’s eyes go wide with fear.
“Dad!” he exclaimed, “What do I need to do to prove I’m me?!”
“You got him?” John asked glancing briefly at Mackland.
He nodded once, “Do it.”
Mackland reached out a hand instinctively to Sam drawing the boy closer to him, when he saw Sam’s face contort in horror. He felt his own stomach twist sharply; Mac knew in his heart that this wasn’t Dean. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch as John pressed the tip of the silver knife against the creature’s chest. The Scholar squeezed Sam’s shoulder trying to offer what reassurance he could.
“Dad, please!” the creature pleaded one last time.
With a flick of John’s wrist the blade bit into the tender flesh, and the creature cried out in pain. Almost immediately the veins around the gash became deep red, bulging under the thin layer of skin.
Dean’s form appeared to ripple, fading before disappearing completely. Dean’s jacket dropped down onto the much smaller shoulders of a tiny woman, and his silver ring clattered too the hardwood floor. The skin-walker hung completely naked accept for the denim, eyes aglow with a fierce light.
“Where are they?” John demanded shifting the tip of his knife to the inside of the skin-walker’s throat.
“Why should I tell you?” she asked sweetly.
John’s answer was another gash, running slowly across her collarbone.
She swallowed hard, “I have as much right to live as you.”
“You lost that right when you started murdering,” John threw back, bloodied knife trailing down her right arm.
“Like you’re so innocent,” she spat eyes squeezing tightly shut against the pain.
“Samuel,” Mac turned his attention to the boy, “I need to know just how many caves are near the river, and close to where Caleb and Dean disappeared.” It didn’t matter to the Scholar that Sam had been raised to fight creatures the rest of the world thought were myths. The boy didn’t need to stand here and watch this.
---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---
Progress was slow for Caleb as he followed the edge of the cave left hand trailing along the rough stone. He only had his Zippo to light the way. He’d left the lantern with Dean, not wanting to leave the kid in the dark while he searched for the exit.
The hunter’s boot caught sharply on something he couldn’t see, he just barely managed to catch himself with the help of a small rock outcropping. Looking down a tiny smile tugged at his lips when he saw Dean’s beat up duffel resting on top of his boot. Caleb knelt down and tore into the bag quickly finding the spare flashlight and switched it on.
The tunnel lit up brightly before him. He took a second to scan the area around him making sure there wasn’t anything he’d missed, before slinging the bag over his shoulder. Jogging down the tunnel, Caleb caught sight of a flickering light up ahead and made his way cautiously towards it.
Candles flickered all over the cave their scent doing nothing to conceal the sharp smell of blood. A wooden alter had been constructed at the very back of the room, several human hearts clustered together at the center. Reaves took a moment to study the various markings painted upon just about every surface. He recognized some as Navajo, they were part of the black craft the work of an ‘ánt’įįhnii.
Caleb didn’t waste any time pulling the salt and lighter fluid from the bottom of the duffle, and liberally covered the top of the alter. Fishing into his front pocket for the lighter Caleb sparked it to life with his thumb touching the flame to the wood and watched it go up in flames. He wasn’t sure what sort of spell the skin-walker had been conjuring but there was no doubt it needed those hearts in one piece. With that done, Caleb went back the way he’d come, not willing to risk leaving Dean alone any longer.
He found the kid right where he’d left him, and felt his gut twist when Dean’s chest hardly seemed to move.
“Deuce,” he spoke sharply dropping down next to his friend.
Heavy lids fluttered open, “Still here.”
“Good,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “How’re your arms feeling?”
Winchester winced, “Wonderful.”
Reaves placed a hand on Dean’s forehead, “It’ll get better.” He dug through the duffel bag his hand closing around a bottle of water, which he carefully offered to Dean.
Swallowing down a few sips of water Dean raised his right hand, “Where’s my ring?” he asked flexing his fingers with a grimace.
Caleb swept the room with the focused beam of the flashlight but caught no sign of the silver ring. Another darker thought occurred to him, “You said you’d had a shot,” he remembered, taking a quick drink from the water bottle. “Did you look her in the eyes?”
“Yeah,” Winchester replied nodding his head slightly, “Her eyes were glowing…”
“And you said you remembered the lore,” Caleb scoffed rocking back on his heels. “I’ve read if you look a skin-walker in the eyes they can take on your form.”
“Fuck…” he swore raising his head with a groan.
“Easy,” Reaves said moving to help Dean to a sitting position keeping a supporting arm across the kid’s back.
Dean looked up at him expression unsure, “You don’t think they’d be fooled by a cheap imitation…” he left it open.
Reaves wanted to say no, but he knew from some of the hunters journals he’d read just how convincing shapeshifters could be. “Do you think you can walk?” he chose to ask instead trying not to picture the world with two Dean Winchester’s.
“You’re not carrying me Damien,” Dean returned indignantly with a rough cough.
He waited for the fit to pass before pulling Winchester’s right arm across his shoulders. “You ready?” he asked eyeing Dean’s pale features, there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
“You going to give me a minute if I say no?” the kid returned rhetorically.
Reaves offered him a smirk, and waited for Dean to pull his legs up, before hauling them both to their feet. “Just keep breathing,” he coaxed as what little color had been in Dean’s face drained away. They stood like that for a couple minutes as Dean’s shaking legs refused to support him.
“Any idea how long we’ve been gone?” Winchester asked voice strained as he focused on staying upright.
“Too long,” he hadn’t stopped to think about it yet there were too many other pressing matters.
A painful cough shook Dean’s body, and Caleb wasn’t so sure moving him had been a good idea as fresh blood splattered his pale lips. Hazel eyes regarded him from beneath heavy lids, “Bit my lip getting up.”
“Right,” he knew Dean had at least cracked a rib or two if not worse, and he adjusted his hold moving his right hand further down the kid’s side. “Ready?” he asked feeling Dean take some of his own weight.
Winchester nodded once, and they started their slow progress out of the caves.
---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---
Sam glanced quickly over his shoulder towards the far side of the room. Although Mackland had moved to block his view of the shapeshifter it was difficult to concentrate on the maps in front of him. Sam flinched each time she cried out in pain, he understood what his dad was doing; they were all trying to save Dean and Caleb. But Sam didn’t know what to make of the torture.
At a glance the shapeshifter didn’t look any different than any other human girl; he thought she might have been around Caleb’s age. She certainly didn’t look like the usual monsters Sam had been raised to hunt and kill. It made his skin crawl and his stomach twist to think they were torturing a human being. Neither his dad nor Mackland appeared to have a problem.
He guessed that the Scholar was driven by the images he’d glimpsed when touching Dean’s coat. The brief look of pain and horror that had passed across Mackland’s face was still crystal clear in Sam’s mind. He wanted to know what the doctor had seen, needed to know that his brother was alright.
A shudder ran down Sam’s spin at the sounds of her ragged breaths, John wasn’t giving her an inch. Despite that the shapeshifter hadn’t offered anything of use, just accusations of the slaughter they’d brought on her kind. Sam tried to block it out, to remind himself that she was a monster; she had killed and needed to be stopped. He just didn’t know how to reconcile her outward appearance with the monster he needed her to be.
“I won’t ask you again,” John warned and Sam was surprised he’d been this ‘patient’ so far.
The young hunter forced himself to look back at the map, using a black marker to section off a fair portion. Mackland’s request had narrowed down their search area from just about everywhere to, a stretch of river at least two miles wide. It just wasn’t enough.
The creature gasped for breath, “Why should I tell you?” she demanded, “Either you’ll kill me after I give you what you want, or before.”
Sam’s gut twisted at her words, could they do that? Could they actually kill a creature as intelligent as her?
“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it quick,” John replied harshly.
That answer didn’t surprise Sam in the least he knew neither his dad nor Dean would have any problems with ending her. But Sam couldn’t see this the same way he did their other hunts and the monsters that they killed. None of them had possessed this level of intelligence; he’d never had a conversation with one of them. And he couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had been capable of this, just never given the chance.
In Sam’s eyes this was just another nail in the coffin that was hunting.
She actually laughed, “Perhaps they’re already dead,” her voice was taunting.
Sam winced in anticipation of her screams of pain, silently glad they lived in a remote area, but they never came. Instead he heard several panicked gasps; curiosity pulled Sam away from his job.
“What the fuck?” John swore eyes locking accusingly on Mackland.
The Scholar shook his head, “I’m not doing this.”
Blood slicked the front of the shapeshifter, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe. The veins on either side of her neck stood out sharply and her eyes appeared to bulge. From one second to the next the color drained from her face, and the fight left her body chin dropping to chest.
John had two fingers pressed tightly to her neck, “Is this some sort of trick?”
Sam watched as Mackland joined his dad, the physician checking for any signs of life. “I don’t see what she’d gain from this,” he confessed taking a step back.
“One way to be sure,” John replied voice grim. Adjusting his grip on the bloodied silver knife, he drove it through the shapeshifter’s heart.
She didn’t react or move a muscle. An ashen pallor washed away the natural bronze of her skin. Sam had witnessed enough death in his young life to know she was gone.
John took hold of the shapeshifter and tossed a look back over his shoulder to Mackland, “Let her down.”
Mackland blinked once and the creature fell limply into John’s arms. There hadn’t been many occasions for Sam to see Mac use his natural abilities, the Scholar rarely showcased them. “Where are you going to dispose of the body?” the doctor asked moving to help John.
Sam wasn’t paying attention to his dad’s answer; he caught sight of Dean’s ring lying forgotten on the wooden floor. He could see spots of blood tarnishing the silver, and tried not to imagine it was a sign of the condition Dean was in. Sam reached down to pick up the cold silver and held it tightly, feeling the warmth of his hand slowly chase away the cold.
“We’re going to find them Samuel,” Mackland said coming up behind him.
Sam looked back over his shoulder, “He hasn’t taken it off once…”
Mackland placed a hand on the back of Sam’s neck giving it a gentle squeeze, “You’ll get to return it to him.”
He nodded slipping the ring safely inside his front pocket, before returning his attention to the maps. “I wasn’t really able to narrow down the search,” he admitted with a frustrated sigh.
“Was there anything else that could help?” Sam asked worried about what the answer might actually be.
Mackland turned his attention towards the map.
“Is Dean hurt?” he pressed, unwilling to take the doctor’s silence as the obvious answer ‘You don’t want to know.’
“Could you bring me something of Caleb’s?” Mackland deflected instead.
He wanted to demand the information, to insist he was mature enough to handle anything. But knew from the set of Mackland’s jaw that he wasn’t about to say anything else. Sam knew his standing here wasn’t going to help Dean or Caleb.
With a frustrated sigh, Sam made his way to the small room at the end of the hall. Caleb had been staying with them since they’d started their hunt for the werewolf, and Sam suspected he was the reason behind their current home. The three bedroom house wasn’t in perfect condition, but was a definite step up from the cheap motels John always managed to find.
Brown eyes swept over the neatly kept room trying to decide what of Caleb’s would best help Mackland find the two missing hunters. Sam took hold of Reaves’ journal and headed back to the living room.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.
On to: chapter 3
I want to thank all of you for your kind support; I hope you enjoy the next chapter! I thought it would be the end, but it looks like we’re going into a third chapter. Thanks again!
Too Little Too Late [chapter 1]
Title: Too Little Too Late
Show: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Brotherhood AU
Characters: John, Dean [age 19] Sam [age 15]
Brotherhood: Mackland Ames, Caleb Reaves [age 27]
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or the Brotherhood
Summary: -Brotherhood AU/Pre-Series- Caleb has gone missing while on the hunt for a werewolf, and Sam is desperate to find his friend. But they don't know where to begin looking.
John had a gun in hand, as he came up next to Mackland, “Are you sure?” he demanded gruffly.
“Mac you know me!” the creature pleaded fear showing on Dean’s face as he looked imploringly from Sam to John. “Dad tell him, it’s me!”
Mackland pulled a hand down his face, and released a shaky breath. The images he’d glimpsed were still so sharp in his mind; the darkness that surrounded Dean hadn’t been enough to disguise the blood.
“Dean’s out there with Caleb,” he said firmly. There was no doubt in Mackland’s mind that the creature before them was an imposter an amazing replica of Dean.
Sam gasped off to his left, “That’s why you wanted to know,” the fifteen year-old said slowly, expression stunned as he took a step towards Dean.
“Sam,” Dean’s voice cracked painfully, “He’s wrong!”
“Know what?” the Scholar asked sharply.
Sam was silent for a minute just staring at the creature who had stolen Dean’s face. “He wanted to know if I ever wondered why the creatures kill,” he explained, finally pulling his eyes away to glance between his father and Mackland.
“This is what I get for trying to have a serious conversation?” the tone was incredulous the voice so obviously Dean’s. “Sam,” he barked the name, “Last week Monday you got into a fight at school, I covered it for you!”
Sam’s eyes went wide and he looked up at Mac his expression unsure, “How does he know that?”
“Shapeshifter Sam,” John said grimly glancing at his youngest, “It’s what they do.” From inside his coat John produced a silver knife, and Mac saw the creature’s eyes go wide with fear.
“Dad!” he exclaimed, “What do I need to do to prove I’m me?!”
“You got him?” John asked glancing briefly at Mackland.
He nodded once, “Do it.”
Mackland reached out a hand instinctively to Sam drawing the boy closer to him, when he saw Sam’s face contort in horror. He felt his own stomach twist sharply; Mac knew in his heart that this wasn’t Dean. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch as John pressed the tip of the silver knife against the creature’s chest. The Scholar squeezed Sam’s shoulder trying to offer what reassurance he could.
“Dad, please!” the creature pleaded one last time.
With a flick of John’s wrist the blade bit into the tender flesh, and the creature cried out in pain. Almost immediately the veins around the gash became deep red, bulging under the thin layer of skin.
Dean’s form appeared to ripple, fading before disappearing completely. Dean’s jacket dropped down onto the much smaller shoulders of a tiny woman, and his silver ring clattered too the hardwood floor. The skin-walker hung completely naked accept for the denim, eyes aglow with a fierce light.
“Where are they?” John demanded shifting the tip of his knife to the inside of the skin-walker’s throat.
“Why should I tell you?” she asked sweetly.
John’s answer was another gash, running slowly across her collarbone.
She swallowed hard, “I have as much right to live as you.”
“You lost that right when you started murdering,” John threw back, bloodied knife trailing down her right arm.
“Like you’re so innocent,” she spat eyes squeezing tightly shut against the pain.
“Samuel,” Mac turned his attention to the boy, “I need to know just how many caves are near the river, and close to where Caleb and Dean disappeared.” It didn’t matter to the Scholar that Sam had been raised to fight creatures the rest of the world thought were myths. The boy didn’t need to stand here and watch this.
---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---
Progress was slow for Caleb as he followed the edge of the cave left hand trailing along the rough stone. He only had his Zippo to light the way. He’d left the lantern with Dean, not wanting to leave the kid in the dark while he searched for the exit.
The hunter’s boot caught sharply on something he couldn’t see, he just barely managed to catch himself with the help of a small rock outcropping. Looking down a tiny smile tugged at his lips when he saw Dean’s beat up duffel resting on top of his boot. Caleb knelt down and tore into the bag quickly finding the spare flashlight and switched it on.
The tunnel lit up brightly before him. He took a second to scan the area around him making sure there wasn’t anything he’d missed, before slinging the bag over his shoulder. Jogging down the tunnel, Caleb caught sight of a flickering light up ahead and made his way cautiously towards it.
Candles flickered all over the cave their scent doing nothing to conceal the sharp smell of blood. A wooden alter had been constructed at the very back of the room, several human hearts clustered together at the center. Reaves took a moment to study the various markings painted upon just about every surface. He recognized some as Navajo, they were part of the black craft the work of an ‘ánt’įįhnii.
Caleb didn’t waste any time pulling the salt and lighter fluid from the bottom of the duffle, and liberally covered the top of the alter. Fishing into his front pocket for the lighter Caleb sparked it to life with his thumb touching the flame to the wood and watched it go up in flames. He wasn’t sure what sort of spell the skin-walker had been conjuring but there was no doubt it needed those hearts in one piece. With that done, Caleb went back the way he’d come, not willing to risk leaving Dean alone any longer.
He found the kid right where he’d left him, and felt his gut twist when Dean’s chest hardly seemed to move.
“Deuce,” he spoke sharply dropping down next to his friend.
Heavy lids fluttered open, “Still here.”
“Good,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “How’re your arms feeling?”
Winchester winced, “Wonderful.”
Reaves placed a hand on Dean’s forehead, “It’ll get better.” He dug through the duffel bag his hand closing around a bottle of water, which he carefully offered to Dean.
Swallowing down a few sips of water Dean raised his right hand, “Where’s my ring?” he asked flexing his fingers with a grimace.
Caleb swept the room with the focused beam of the flashlight but caught no sign of the silver ring. Another darker thought occurred to him, “You said you’d had a shot,” he remembered, taking a quick drink from the water bottle. “Did you look her in the eyes?”
“Yeah,” Winchester replied nodding his head slightly, “Her eyes were glowing…”
“And you said you remembered the lore,” Caleb scoffed rocking back on his heels. “I’ve read if you look a skin-walker in the eyes they can take on your form.”
“Fuck…” he swore raising his head with a groan.
“Easy,” Reaves said moving to help Dean to a sitting position keeping a supporting arm across the kid’s back.
Dean looked up at him expression unsure, “You don’t think they’d be fooled by a cheap imitation…” he left it open.
Reaves wanted to say no, but he knew from some of the hunters journals he’d read just how convincing shapeshifters could be. “Do you think you can walk?” he chose to ask instead trying not to picture the world with two Dean Winchester’s.
“You’re not carrying me Damien,” Dean returned indignantly with a rough cough.
He waited for the fit to pass before pulling Winchester’s right arm across his shoulders. “You ready?” he asked eyeing Dean’s pale features, there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
“You going to give me a minute if I say no?” the kid returned rhetorically.
Reaves offered him a smirk, and waited for Dean to pull his legs up, before hauling them both to their feet. “Just keep breathing,” he coaxed as what little color had been in Dean’s face drained away. They stood like that for a couple minutes as Dean’s shaking legs refused to support him.
“Any idea how long we’ve been gone?” Winchester asked voice strained as he focused on staying upright.
“Too long,” he hadn’t stopped to think about it yet there were too many other pressing matters.
A painful cough shook Dean’s body, and Caleb wasn’t so sure moving him had been a good idea as fresh blood splattered his pale lips. Hazel eyes regarded him from beneath heavy lids, “Bit my lip getting up.”
“Right,” he knew Dean had at least cracked a rib or two if not worse, and he adjusted his hold moving his right hand further down the kid’s side. “Ready?” he asked feeling Dean take some of his own weight.
Winchester nodded once, and they started their slow progress out of the caves.
---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---
Sam glanced quickly over his shoulder towards the far side of the room. Although Mackland had moved to block his view of the shapeshifter it was difficult to concentrate on the maps in front of him. Sam flinched each time she cried out in pain, he understood what his dad was doing; they were all trying to save Dean and Caleb. But Sam didn’t know what to make of the torture.
At a glance the shapeshifter didn’t look any different than any other human girl; he thought she might have been around Caleb’s age. She certainly didn’t look like the usual monsters Sam had been raised to hunt and kill. It made his skin crawl and his stomach twist to think they were torturing a human being. Neither his dad nor Mackland appeared to have a problem.
He guessed that the Scholar was driven by the images he’d glimpsed when touching Dean’s coat. The brief look of pain and horror that had passed across Mackland’s face was still crystal clear in Sam’s mind. He wanted to know what the doctor had seen, needed to know that his brother was alright.
A shudder ran down Sam’s spin at the sounds of her ragged breaths, John wasn’t giving her an inch. Despite that the shapeshifter hadn’t offered anything of use, just accusations of the slaughter they’d brought on her kind. Sam tried to block it out, to remind himself that she was a monster; she had killed and needed to be stopped. He just didn’t know how to reconcile her outward appearance with the monster he needed her to be.
“I won’t ask you again,” John warned and Sam was surprised he’d been this ‘patient’ so far.
The young hunter forced himself to look back at the map, using a black marker to section off a fair portion. Mackland’s request had narrowed down their search area from just about everywhere to, a stretch of river at least two miles wide. It just wasn’t enough.
The creature gasped for breath, “Why should I tell you?” she demanded, “Either you’ll kill me after I give you what you want, or before.”
Sam’s gut twisted at her words, could they do that? Could they actually kill a creature as intelligent as her?
“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make it quick,” John replied harshly.
That answer didn’t surprise Sam in the least he knew neither his dad nor Dean would have any problems with ending her. But Sam couldn’t see this the same way he did their other hunts and the monsters that they killed. None of them had possessed this level of intelligence; he’d never had a conversation with one of them. And he couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had been capable of this, just never given the chance.
In Sam’s eyes this was just another nail in the coffin that was hunting.
She actually laughed, “Perhaps they’re already dead,” her voice was taunting.
Sam winced in anticipation of her screams of pain, silently glad they lived in a remote area, but they never came. Instead he heard several panicked gasps; curiosity pulled Sam away from his job.
“What the fuck?” John swore eyes locking accusingly on Mackland.
The Scholar shook his head, “I’m not doing this.”
Blood slicked the front of the shapeshifter, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe. The veins on either side of her neck stood out sharply and her eyes appeared to bulge. From one second to the next the color drained from her face, and the fight left her body chin dropping to chest.
John had two fingers pressed tightly to her neck, “Is this some sort of trick?”
Sam watched as Mackland joined his dad, the physician checking for any signs of life. “I don’t see what she’d gain from this,” he confessed taking a step back.
“One way to be sure,” John replied voice grim. Adjusting his grip on the bloodied silver knife, he drove it through the shapeshifter’s heart.
She didn’t react or move a muscle. An ashen pallor washed away the natural bronze of her skin. Sam had witnessed enough death in his young life to know she was gone.
John took hold of the shapeshifter and tossed a look back over his shoulder to Mackland, “Let her down.”
Mackland blinked once and the creature fell limply into John’s arms. There hadn’t been many occasions for Sam to see Mac use his natural abilities, the Scholar rarely showcased them. “Where are you going to dispose of the body?” the doctor asked moving to help John.
Sam wasn’t paying attention to his dad’s answer; he caught sight of Dean’s ring lying forgotten on the wooden floor. He could see spots of blood tarnishing the silver, and tried not to imagine it was a sign of the condition Dean was in. Sam reached down to pick up the cold silver and held it tightly, feeling the warmth of his hand slowly chase away the cold.
“We’re going to find them Samuel,” Mackland said coming up behind him.
Sam looked back over his shoulder, “He hasn’t taken it off once…”
Mackland placed a hand on the back of Sam’s neck giving it a gentle squeeze, “You’ll get to return it to him.”
He nodded slipping the ring safely inside his front pocket, before returning his attention to the maps. “I wasn’t really able to narrow down the search,” he admitted with a frustrated sigh.
“Was there anything else that could help?” Sam asked worried about what the answer might actually be.
Mackland turned his attention towards the map.
“Is Dean hurt?” he pressed, unwilling to take the doctor’s silence as the obvious answer ‘You don’t want to know.’
“Could you bring me something of Caleb’s?” Mackland deflected instead.
He wanted to demand the information, to insist he was mature enough to handle anything. But knew from the set of Mackland’s jaw that he wasn’t about to say anything else. Sam knew his standing here wasn’t going to help Dean or Caleb.
With a frustrated sigh, Sam made his way to the small room at the end of the hall. Caleb had been staying with them since they’d started their hunt for the werewolf, and Sam suspected he was the reason behind their current home. The three bedroom house wasn’t in perfect condition, but was a definite step up from the cheap motels John always managed to find.
Brown eyes swept over the neatly kept room trying to decide what of Caleb’s would best help Mackland find the two missing hunters. Sam took hold of Reaves’ journal and headed back to the living room.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.
On to: chapter 3