(no subject)
Title: A Werewolf in North Carolina 1/6
Authors: Mich and En
Genre: AU, gen
Warnings: none if you're at all familiar with the show.
Summary: This is a story I actually started with jennytork when I'd only seen one episode and a few clips of the show Supernatural, which would in a matter of two weeks completely devour my brain. It brings together a line from my first Star Trek story (that the werewolf legend comes from a human seeing a neromancer change forms) and places that into the Supernatural universe.
NOTE: This is the complete revision/rewrite that I completed 7/30/2012. Tonally and plot-wise I think it flows so much better than the admitted first draft.
Chapter One
May 2, 1997
Sam’s 14th birthday was spent like all the others in his life-forgotten by everyone but Dean. Dean always gave him something, even though it was never something large.
Today, though, Sam had to research poltergeists for his father. There seemed to be one in a house on the outskirts of the small town they were at, close to Uncle Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, and he was hoping this would be the one that would have his father saying he was proud of him at last.
Soon, the young man was up to his elbows in books at the small library table, and he was working late into the afternoon. Hungry and tired, he doggedly kept looking.
“If you push your nose further into that book, you may cut yourself,” an amused voice said. A sandwich slid under his elbow-how did she do that?
“What?” Sam said distractedly, then blinked at the sandwich. “Oh, no, thanks, but I can’t. The librarian would have a fit.”
“Oh, most assuredly. But since I am the librarian, I think I can excuse myself this time.”
Sam looked up, flaring bright red along his high cheekbones. “Oh! . . . okay. Sorry.” He began to eat.
“I have my rules and I enforce them. There’s no need for embarassment. But I’ve seen you here before and I think I can trust you not to smear mustard on the pages.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. . . . uh?”
“Adelphina,” she said. “That will do for now.” She had the kindly air of a grandmother, though she looked to be only in her early fifties. Generous laugh lines spread from her rich green eyes, partially hidden behind a pair of spectacles that tried-and failed-to make her look stern and forbidding. That came from her manner; she held herself ramrod-straight, her face capable of moving into a stony expression as cold and heartless as a big predator on the hunt.
“All right,” he smiled. “I’m Sam.”
“Very good, Sam. May I inquire what you’re so invested in this afternoon?”
“Oh . . . uh . . . just . . . ”
“Poltergeists? That’s a somewhat unusual topic of study.”
Sam had to think fast. “I’m a . . . uh . . . it’s a hobby.”
To his surprise, she smiled. “I am always happy to find children who are interested in esoteric subjects. Most requests from people your age are about girls or boys or bands or television shows. What I wouldn’t give for one fourteen year-old who wants to read Shakespeare or Sherlock Holmes . . . ”
“I love Sherlock Holmes,” he found himself admitting.
“Do you? Sir Arthur is so rarely called for, to my eternal disappointment.”
“I’ve just finished ‘The Speckled Band’. Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it to be a snake.”
“Words are wonderful things, so able to be several things at once, or to be both and neither. You can spend your entire life trying to pin down a single word and you can’t do it.”
“Yeah!” His whole face lit.
“So, with your current hobby, have you referenced Engels and Michaud?”
“ . . . who?”
She smiled broader. “Wait here.”
Sam watched her go, then turned to finish his sandwich.
She returned a few minutes later, her long skirts swishing, and set down two very old books. “These should help you dig a little deeper, Sam.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Makes me sound like an old woman.”
“I’m only fourteen, ma’am. To me, every adult is old.” He grinned.
“Very true,” she replied with a voice that seemed to be ageless. “If you’ll permit the intrusion.” She sat, opening one of the texts. “I believe in here is some foundational material you may find useful.”
He read and his eyes went wide. “Whoa . . . this is everything I ever needed to know . . . ”
She laughed, a gentle sound not unlike a purr. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You did! Thank you so much!” He shot a brilliant, dimpled smile at her.
She stood, placing the other book closer. “If I think of anything else, I will be sure to let you know. And, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”
“I won’t! Thank you!”
~~~
The final patrons of the library parted for the man walking up the path; he was tall and broad, with elegant features that would have seemed more at home on a statue or in a painting of a king or knight. His short-cropped hair was jet black, his eyes nearly so. He paused near the door, watching the librarian who was talking with a slight, nervous-looking teenage boy.
Finally they parted, the man waiting until the boy was out of earshot. “Who was that, Del?” he asked the woman.
“Oh, just a very enthusiastic student,” she replied. “Wonderful intellect.”
“For a human,” he said.
“That’s not funny, Rolan.” She moved aside, letting him enter, then closed and locked the door behind him. “I know how you feel about them. I don’t need constant reminders.”
Rolan turned, smiling at the older woman. “You are always so quick to defend your pets.”
“They’re not my pets. And even if they were-you talk as if associating with those weaker than you is a weakness itself.”
“Not at all, Del. I just find that it makes more sense to associate with more . . . worthy beings.”
She sighed, pausing in her work, her hand lingering on one of the texts she’d retrieved for Sam. “Rolan, one day I am going to convince you that your bigotry is not what I believe, and no matter how many times you say it, it’s not going to make me believe it.”
“I’m just speaking the truth. These humans are so primitive, so weak, so vulnerable to their own worst instincts.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged. “They’re interesting in a morbid way. I feel better about myself the more time I spend amongst them.”
“So you use them to prop up your own feelings of superiority. How enlightened of you.”
Rolan suddenly snarled, a deep, inhuman rumble that emerged from his chest like slow thunder.
Adelphina turned, her gaze turning cold. “Are you challenging me, Rolan?”
Rolan backed away a step, forcing his gaze down. “Forgive me, dey’n.”
She finished collecting the books left on the tables, pushing the wooden cart into the back room. Rolan followed. “I received our orders. In a month you need to move on. Your papers and identities are ready. You should begin tying things together here.”
“So soon?”
“It’s been ten years, Del. Even these people will start to notice that you’re not aging as they do.”
“I know. I just wish I’d had more time here. That boy, Sam, shows real potential.”
Rolan touched her arm. The tips of his fingers were oddly shaped, the nails rounded and oblong, deformed in an odd way. Adelphina’s were shaped the same, though longer and more ‘normal’ looking. “It’s too dangerous to stay. You’ll have a month to say goodbye. Be thankful for it.”
March 3, 1999
Sam was almost sixteen and the family was holed up in a small town in Tennessee when word reached John about a werewolf the next town over. They set Sam to researching the town’s history and he went right to the library.
He’d expected books. He hadn’t expected her.
He smiled at her and asked, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t know, do I? I have so many students in and out every year, it’s so hard to keep track.”
“You seem very familiar.” He walked to a card catalog and began to flip through it.
“All librarians have that aura. We’re all the same person, you know.”
Sam laughed softly and noted some numbers, heading to find the books.
“You seem to know your way around.”
“Libraries are like my second home.”
“Dewey or Library of Congress?”
He smiled sideways at her. “Yes.”
“Ah, a pro. I don’t think you’ll need my help, then. But if you do, I’m sure you’ll know where to find me.
“What’s your name? I’m Sam.”
“Since you’re underage you can call me Ms. Phinar.”
“Ms. Phinar.” He got it right on the first try.
“Beautiful.”
Sam blushed slightly. “Aaah, there we go.” He loaded with books and sat down at one of the tables, spreading out notebooks and pencils.
His study habits hadn’t changed in two years.
She narrowed her eyes, easily scanning the words as he moved papers and flipped pages.
He was studying the town’s history.
She nodded, silently noting the texts he had and the ones he needed.
As she approached, she saw he was studying the legends.
“Werewolves?” she asked. “Do you believe they exist?”
“I’ve seen weirder,” he said with a note of resignation in his voice.
“You have?”
“M-hm.” He stood up and went to the water fountain, drawing deeply from it. A clear avoidance technique.
When he looked up he noted her gaze; it was piercing, not like looking at an elder woman, but at a cat. A large, ancient cat.
She noticed his slanted eyes narrow slightly. But he just returned quietly to his seat.
“If I may ask . . . what have you seen?”
“Enough things that your hair would curl.”
Her voice was flat. “Try me.”
“I like legends. I’ve been in haunted houses and graveyards at night.”
“Really? And what have you seen?”
Sam looked at his watch. “I need to get home.” Standing quickly, he started gathering his books.
She touched his arm, her grip fleeting but strong. “Please, I need to know.”
“Look, I’m just talking off my head. I do that. Just ignore the weird kid, okay?”
“I would love to, but when the ‘weird kid’ has truth in his eyes . . . ”
Those eyes snapped with anger. “Look, just-just leave me alone!”
She pulled back. “All right. I’m sorry.” He’d not expected that look of shock with a touch of shame. “If you ever need any help, though, please let me know.” She retreated quickly, vanishing around a corner.
Sam ran out and didn’t return for two days.
~~~
Sam was back in the library on Wednesday. He was working his way through a stack of books, taking notes and talking to Dean on the phone. When he couldn’t find a crucial book he went back to the table, frustrated, pausing when he saw the book he’d been looking for sitting on top of his notes.
He turned toward the desk, and caught Ms. Phinar’s eyes.
“I wondered if you were ever coming back.”
“I didn’t think I was going to.”
“I’m glad you did.”
With a wary nod, he returned to his studies.
She left him alone, keeping to the shadows, one ear always turned in case he needed help.
He finished and went to the desk to check out a few books. Local legends. Werewolf legends.
“Is there a reason you’re researching this particular area?” she asked, looking down at the slips as she signed them.
“Curiosity.”
“Or something else.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. She met his anger with calm.
“I can’t tell you.” He waited.
“There is a reason I ask,” she began slowly. “And I can’t tell you why . . . until I have your answer.”
He sighed. “I’m looking for legends pertaining to werewolves.”
And he waited for the laughter.
“We’ve established that. But when I asked if you’ve ever seen one, you told me you’ve seen weirder, but that’s as much information as you gave.”
“That’s all I can give.”
She looked disappointed. “Then I won’t question you further. You have a right to your own secrets.”
“Thank you.”
~~~
Dean looked up, thumbing off the TV as his little brother walked in. “Hey. Have fun?”
“Not really.”
“What happened?”
Sam was silent, putting down the books he’d taken out and all his notes, then shuffling them around. “Nothing serious, just . . . the librarian. She seems familiar, and there’s something about her. It’s . . . weird.”
“Course she’s weird. She’s a librarian.”
“It’s not that. She kept asking why I was researching werewolves. And not just curiously; it was like she had some . . . personal investment.”
Instantly Dean sobered. “You think she’s one of them?”
Sam met his eyes, not wanting to speak the words. She had been nothing but kind and helpful to him, and there was nothing to suggest that she was, but there had been that look . . . “I think she might be,” he whispered.
Dean nodded slowly. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
Sam laid out his notes, tracing the local phenomena. “Looks like it started fifty years ago, tapered off and ended in 1982, and then three years ago the sightings started again.”
“Like someone moved out and returned.”
“Exactly. And . . . according to the library, she-Ms. Phinar-just moved here about two years ago.”
“Let’s find out about this Ms. Phinar.” Dean stood and walked over to his brother. “Go shower. I’ll go over this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sammy. Go.”
“All right.” He turned and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Dean went over the research.
It laid out a consistent pattern of sightings in a long swath of densely-packed woods, with locals describing very similar visions of very large furred creatures who walked on two or four legs, one man adamant that he’d seen a man shift forms before his eyes-with his story immediately discredited when his cabin had been found stocked with a very generous supply of moonshine.
That made Dean smile. His little brother was the best damn researcher ever.
Sam came out, his hair dripping wet and clinging to his cheeks. “Find anything I missed?”
“Nope, looks like you covered everything.”
“So what’s the next move?”
“Stakeout.”
“The library?”
“Your dream come true.”
“What if she is? You know, a werewolf.”
“Then you know what we have to do.”
Sam sighed. He knew he shouldn’t let his feelings interfere with their job, but she was so nice and wise somehow-he just couldn’t imagine having to do anything to hurt her.
“C’mon, let’s get some supper and figure this out.”
“I don’t want to hurt her, Dean.”
His face softened. “I know. But, Sammy . . . if she is . . . we don’t have a choice. A monster is a monster is a monster.”
“I know. I just . . . don’t want to believe that she’s a monster. I don’t-I don’t feel that about her.”
He curled a hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “Then I hope-for your sake-she’s not.”
~~~
“Okay, okay, you were right,” Dean said as he threw the Impala keys across the room. “She’s weird but she’s not a werewolf.”
They’d spent the evening watching the library, waiting until Ms. Phinar appeared. She locked up the doors, checking them, then headed off, walking down the street like any other person leaving her job and going home. Trailing her for several blocks, they watched her head into a small, unassuming house and close the door behind her. Dean glanced up at the full moon overhead, the realization hitting him at the same moment it hit Sam; if the moon was full overhead and she hadn’t turned, she wasn’t a werewolf. They both knew that the whole shifting-into-a-huge-furry-creature part was a myth, but true lycanthropes still underwent a noticable transformation.
“Maybe she knows something,” Sam said. “But I don’t think she’ll ever tell us. She’s a dead end.”
Dean sighed. “Okay, then it’s back to square one.”
Chapter Two
Authors: Mich and En
Genre: AU, gen
Warnings: none if you're at all familiar with the show.
Summary: This is a story I actually started with jennytork when I'd only seen one episode and a few clips of the show Supernatural, which would in a matter of two weeks completely devour my brain. It brings together a line from my first Star Trek story (that the werewolf legend comes from a human seeing a neromancer change forms) and places that into the Supernatural universe.
NOTE: This is the complete revision/rewrite that I completed 7/30/2012. Tonally and plot-wise I think it flows so much better than the admitted first draft.
Chapter One
May 2, 1997
Sam’s 14th birthday was spent like all the others in his life-forgotten by everyone but Dean. Dean always gave him something, even though it was never something large.
Today, though, Sam had to research poltergeists for his father. There seemed to be one in a house on the outskirts of the small town they were at, close to Uncle Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, and he was hoping this would be the one that would have his father saying he was proud of him at last.
Soon, the young man was up to his elbows in books at the small library table, and he was working late into the afternoon. Hungry and tired, he doggedly kept looking.
“If you push your nose further into that book, you may cut yourself,” an amused voice said. A sandwich slid under his elbow-how did she do that?
“What?” Sam said distractedly, then blinked at the sandwich. “Oh, no, thanks, but I can’t. The librarian would have a fit.”
“Oh, most assuredly. But since I am the librarian, I think I can excuse myself this time.”
Sam looked up, flaring bright red along his high cheekbones. “Oh! . . . okay. Sorry.” He began to eat.
“I have my rules and I enforce them. There’s no need for embarassment. But I’ve seen you here before and I think I can trust you not to smear mustard on the pages.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. . . . uh?”
“Adelphina,” she said. “That will do for now.” She had the kindly air of a grandmother, though she looked to be only in her early fifties. Generous laugh lines spread from her rich green eyes, partially hidden behind a pair of spectacles that tried-and failed-to make her look stern and forbidding. That came from her manner; she held herself ramrod-straight, her face capable of moving into a stony expression as cold and heartless as a big predator on the hunt.
“All right,” he smiled. “I’m Sam.”
“Very good, Sam. May I inquire what you’re so invested in this afternoon?”
“Oh . . . uh . . . just . . . ”
“Poltergeists? That’s a somewhat unusual topic of study.”
Sam had to think fast. “I’m a . . . uh . . . it’s a hobby.”
To his surprise, she smiled. “I am always happy to find children who are interested in esoteric subjects. Most requests from people your age are about girls or boys or bands or television shows. What I wouldn’t give for one fourteen year-old who wants to read Shakespeare or Sherlock Holmes . . . ”
“I love Sherlock Holmes,” he found himself admitting.
“Do you? Sir Arthur is so rarely called for, to my eternal disappointment.”
“I’ve just finished ‘The Speckled Band’. Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it to be a snake.”
“Words are wonderful things, so able to be several things at once, or to be both and neither. You can spend your entire life trying to pin down a single word and you can’t do it.”
“Yeah!” His whole face lit.
“So, with your current hobby, have you referenced Engels and Michaud?”
“ . . . who?”
She smiled broader. “Wait here.”
Sam watched her go, then turned to finish his sandwich.
She returned a few minutes later, her long skirts swishing, and set down two very old books. “These should help you dig a little deeper, Sam.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Makes me sound like an old woman.”
“I’m only fourteen, ma’am. To me, every adult is old.” He grinned.
“Very true,” she replied with a voice that seemed to be ageless. “If you’ll permit the intrusion.” She sat, opening one of the texts. “I believe in here is some foundational material you may find useful.”
He read and his eyes went wide. “Whoa . . . this is everything I ever needed to know . . . ”
She laughed, a gentle sound not unlike a purr. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You did! Thank you so much!” He shot a brilliant, dimpled smile at her.
She stood, placing the other book closer. “If I think of anything else, I will be sure to let you know. And, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”
“I won’t! Thank you!”
~~~
The final patrons of the library parted for the man walking up the path; he was tall and broad, with elegant features that would have seemed more at home on a statue or in a painting of a king or knight. His short-cropped hair was jet black, his eyes nearly so. He paused near the door, watching the librarian who was talking with a slight, nervous-looking teenage boy.
Finally they parted, the man waiting until the boy was out of earshot. “Who was that, Del?” he asked the woman.
“Oh, just a very enthusiastic student,” she replied. “Wonderful intellect.”
“For a human,” he said.
“That’s not funny, Rolan.” She moved aside, letting him enter, then closed and locked the door behind him. “I know how you feel about them. I don’t need constant reminders.”
Rolan turned, smiling at the older woman. “You are always so quick to defend your pets.”
“They’re not my pets. And even if they were-you talk as if associating with those weaker than you is a weakness itself.”
“Not at all, Del. I just find that it makes more sense to associate with more . . . worthy beings.”
She sighed, pausing in her work, her hand lingering on one of the texts she’d retrieved for Sam. “Rolan, one day I am going to convince you that your bigotry is not what I believe, and no matter how many times you say it, it’s not going to make me believe it.”
“I’m just speaking the truth. These humans are so primitive, so weak, so vulnerable to their own worst instincts.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged. “They’re interesting in a morbid way. I feel better about myself the more time I spend amongst them.”
“So you use them to prop up your own feelings of superiority. How enlightened of you.”
Rolan suddenly snarled, a deep, inhuman rumble that emerged from his chest like slow thunder.
Adelphina turned, her gaze turning cold. “Are you challenging me, Rolan?”
Rolan backed away a step, forcing his gaze down. “Forgive me, dey’n.”
She finished collecting the books left on the tables, pushing the wooden cart into the back room. Rolan followed. “I received our orders. In a month you need to move on. Your papers and identities are ready. You should begin tying things together here.”
“So soon?”
“It’s been ten years, Del. Even these people will start to notice that you’re not aging as they do.”
“I know. I just wish I’d had more time here. That boy, Sam, shows real potential.”
Rolan touched her arm. The tips of his fingers were oddly shaped, the nails rounded and oblong, deformed in an odd way. Adelphina’s were shaped the same, though longer and more ‘normal’ looking. “It’s too dangerous to stay. You’ll have a month to say goodbye. Be thankful for it.”
March 3, 1999
Sam was almost sixteen and the family was holed up in a small town in Tennessee when word reached John about a werewolf the next town over. They set Sam to researching the town’s history and he went right to the library.
He’d expected books. He hadn’t expected her.
He smiled at her and asked, “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I don’t know, do I? I have so many students in and out every year, it’s so hard to keep track.”
“You seem very familiar.” He walked to a card catalog and began to flip through it.
“All librarians have that aura. We’re all the same person, you know.”
Sam laughed softly and noted some numbers, heading to find the books.
“You seem to know your way around.”
“Libraries are like my second home.”
“Dewey or Library of Congress?”
He smiled sideways at her. “Yes.”
“Ah, a pro. I don’t think you’ll need my help, then. But if you do, I’m sure you’ll know where to find me.
“What’s your name? I’m Sam.”
“Since you’re underage you can call me Ms. Phinar.”
“Ms. Phinar.” He got it right on the first try.
“Beautiful.”
Sam blushed slightly. “Aaah, there we go.” He loaded with books and sat down at one of the tables, spreading out notebooks and pencils.
His study habits hadn’t changed in two years.
She narrowed her eyes, easily scanning the words as he moved papers and flipped pages.
He was studying the town’s history.
She nodded, silently noting the texts he had and the ones he needed.
As she approached, she saw he was studying the legends.
“Werewolves?” she asked. “Do you believe they exist?”
“I’ve seen weirder,” he said with a note of resignation in his voice.
“You have?”
“M-hm.” He stood up and went to the water fountain, drawing deeply from it. A clear avoidance technique.
When he looked up he noted her gaze; it was piercing, not like looking at an elder woman, but at a cat. A large, ancient cat.
She noticed his slanted eyes narrow slightly. But he just returned quietly to his seat.
“If I may ask . . . what have you seen?”
“Enough things that your hair would curl.”
Her voice was flat. “Try me.”
“I like legends. I’ve been in haunted houses and graveyards at night.”
“Really? And what have you seen?”
Sam looked at his watch. “I need to get home.” Standing quickly, he started gathering his books.
She touched his arm, her grip fleeting but strong. “Please, I need to know.”
“Look, I’m just talking off my head. I do that. Just ignore the weird kid, okay?”
“I would love to, but when the ‘weird kid’ has truth in his eyes . . . ”
Those eyes snapped with anger. “Look, just-just leave me alone!”
She pulled back. “All right. I’m sorry.” He’d not expected that look of shock with a touch of shame. “If you ever need any help, though, please let me know.” She retreated quickly, vanishing around a corner.
Sam ran out and didn’t return for two days.
~~~
Sam was back in the library on Wednesday. He was working his way through a stack of books, taking notes and talking to Dean on the phone. When he couldn’t find a crucial book he went back to the table, frustrated, pausing when he saw the book he’d been looking for sitting on top of his notes.
He turned toward the desk, and caught Ms. Phinar’s eyes.
“I wondered if you were ever coming back.”
“I didn’t think I was going to.”
“I’m glad you did.”
With a wary nod, he returned to his studies.
She left him alone, keeping to the shadows, one ear always turned in case he needed help.
He finished and went to the desk to check out a few books. Local legends. Werewolf legends.
“Is there a reason you’re researching this particular area?” she asked, looking down at the slips as she signed them.
“Curiosity.”
“Or something else.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. She met his anger with calm.
“I can’t tell you.” He waited.
“There is a reason I ask,” she began slowly. “And I can’t tell you why . . . until I have your answer.”
He sighed. “I’m looking for legends pertaining to werewolves.”
And he waited for the laughter.
“We’ve established that. But when I asked if you’ve ever seen one, you told me you’ve seen weirder, but that’s as much information as you gave.”
“That’s all I can give.”
She looked disappointed. “Then I won’t question you further. You have a right to your own secrets.”
“Thank you.”
~~~
Dean looked up, thumbing off the TV as his little brother walked in. “Hey. Have fun?”
“Not really.”
“What happened?”
Sam was silent, putting down the books he’d taken out and all his notes, then shuffling them around. “Nothing serious, just . . . the librarian. She seems familiar, and there’s something about her. It’s . . . weird.”
“Course she’s weird. She’s a librarian.”
“It’s not that. She kept asking why I was researching werewolves. And not just curiously; it was like she had some . . . personal investment.”
Instantly Dean sobered. “You think she’s one of them?”
Sam met his eyes, not wanting to speak the words. She had been nothing but kind and helpful to him, and there was nothing to suggest that she was, but there had been that look . . . “I think she might be,” he whispered.
Dean nodded slowly. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”
Sam laid out his notes, tracing the local phenomena. “Looks like it started fifty years ago, tapered off and ended in 1982, and then three years ago the sightings started again.”
“Like someone moved out and returned.”
“Exactly. And . . . according to the library, she-Ms. Phinar-just moved here about two years ago.”
“Let’s find out about this Ms. Phinar.” Dean stood and walked over to his brother. “Go shower. I’ll go over this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sammy. Go.”
“All right.” He turned and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Dean went over the research.
It laid out a consistent pattern of sightings in a long swath of densely-packed woods, with locals describing very similar visions of very large furred creatures who walked on two or four legs, one man adamant that he’d seen a man shift forms before his eyes-with his story immediately discredited when his cabin had been found stocked with a very generous supply of moonshine.
That made Dean smile. His little brother was the best damn researcher ever.
Sam came out, his hair dripping wet and clinging to his cheeks. “Find anything I missed?”
“Nope, looks like you covered everything.”
“So what’s the next move?”
“Stakeout.”
“The library?”
“Your dream come true.”
“What if she is? You know, a werewolf.”
“Then you know what we have to do.”
Sam sighed. He knew he shouldn’t let his feelings interfere with their job, but she was so nice and wise somehow-he just couldn’t imagine having to do anything to hurt her.
“C’mon, let’s get some supper and figure this out.”
“I don’t want to hurt her, Dean.”
His face softened. “I know. But, Sammy . . . if she is . . . we don’t have a choice. A monster is a monster is a monster.”
“I know. I just . . . don’t want to believe that she’s a monster. I don’t-I don’t feel that about her.”
He curled a hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “Then I hope-for your sake-she’s not.”
~~~
“Okay, okay, you were right,” Dean said as he threw the Impala keys across the room. “She’s weird but she’s not a werewolf.”
They’d spent the evening watching the library, waiting until Ms. Phinar appeared. She locked up the doors, checking them, then headed off, walking down the street like any other person leaving her job and going home. Trailing her for several blocks, they watched her head into a small, unassuming house and close the door behind her. Dean glanced up at the full moon overhead, the realization hitting him at the same moment it hit Sam; if the moon was full overhead and she hadn’t turned, she wasn’t a werewolf. They both knew that the whole shifting-into-a-huge-furry-creature part was a myth, but true lycanthropes still underwent a noticable transformation.
“Maybe she knows something,” Sam said. “But I don’t think she’ll ever tell us. She’s a dead end.”
Dean sighed. “Okay, then it’s back to square one.”
Chapter Two