Who killed Tabaqui (10/?)
Title: Who killed Tabaqui
Author:marlowe78
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: a lot
Beta: soncnica
Spoilers: for s6, the basics
Warnings: Language, some blood is spilled.
Summary: Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp
Previous
It took a lot less time for Dean to shift than the first night, though probably longer than the night Dean’d been sleeping.
Sam had held on to his brother, gripping him tight and tried to block out the terror that welled up when he heard him moan, groan, cry and freaking howl in pain. It had looked just as horrible as it had the first time, the shifting muscles, the changing bones, the fur, the by now claw-like fingers, the tail. But even though it must have hurt terribly, it had gone much smoother than before, the shifts and breaks and tears of ligaments looking more like ripples in a pond than the violent cracks and waves of the first transformation.
When his brother’s body had developed fur, Sam’d backed away, not sure if the wolf would recognize him or if it would be mad with pain. He’d not passed out, after all, and being aware and an animal in a strange room with pain coursing through your body was a great reason to be a tad cranky towards the nearest target.
Sam really didn’t want to be the nearest target; he’d seen the jaws and teeth up close whenever Dean had yawned.
Now, his human older brother was once again an animal, the fur still scruffed from the writhing, and he was whimpering silently, eyes cloudy and far away. Apparently the shifting wasn’t painful as long as Dean wasn’t aware - be it asleep or unconscious. Maybe he’d knock his brother out next time… No, he shook his head. There wouldn’t be a next time! He’d make sure. Then again, if the woman didn’t have a cure? It never paid off to bet all you had on one number, and so maybe he would have to witness another change, so he might have to think about something to make it easier. That kind of horror was hard to watch, and leaving Dean alone to spare himself the agonizing watch wasn’t an option, would never be an option. He owed him much more than this, and one day, he knew, he might owe Dean the final bullet to the heart.
And even if it broke him, he would do it. Except how he wouldn’t need to, because they’d damn well get out of this situation!
“Hey Dean. You ok?”
The wolf raised his head slightly, but couldn’t hold it up. It sagged back and a long huff and hard exhale told Sam that though the body was still hurting, it would be all right later.
“Thirsty?”
The greenish-yellow eyes followed him to the bathroom, where Sam filled a plastic-container with water. He brought it over, held it under the wolf’s nose and watched as he took a few tentative sips. The angle wasn’t perfect for drinking, and Sam placed the bowl on the floor. “You can take more later, ok?”
The wolf didn’t nod, but Sam still imagined that it would have. He stroked the softer fur at the side of the animal’s neck, carefully checking if the collar was sitting right. It did. His brother, who usually hated touchy-feely-stuff, leaned into the caress and groaned happily, and for a few moments, Sam let both of them enjoy the comfort of touch. Dean wouldn’t know anyway, and it seemed the wolf was much smarter than his human part.
The opportunity was perfect. As long as his grey-brother was still groggy and pliant, he could easily attach the leash to the collar. It’d make things a lot easier and would give Sam more control over the situation, and more control meant more safety.
He grabbed the leash that’d been placed next to the TV on the small table and returned, but as he neared, he realized that his assumptions had been wrong. This would not be easy.
The wolf had his ears back, flat against the scull, sharp teeth bared. Instead of being relaxed as before, he was poised and alert, eyes fixed on the leash and a low, warning growl rolled from his throat.
“Uh… Dean?” No reaction, except that the growl turned up in volume. “It’s ok, we agreed, remember?” But the wolf had a different opinion, apparently.
Mixed into the deep rumble was now a snarl as the animal sucked in more breath. He was moving backwards, away from Sam, prepared to run but not to attack. Yet.
Sighing, Sam put the leash away.
At once, the snarling stopped and the wolf relaxed some, though the ears stayed tucked back and distrust in his eyes. It hurt to see that look on his brother, most of all because it was undeserved. “What now?” Sam asked and sat on his own bed. Dean didn’t answer, of course, but it seemed he’d let go of some suspicion. He slinked down from the bed, shaking out his fur and drinking noisily from the bowl before exploring the room, leaving drips of water all over the place and a large wet puddle around the bowl. Dean as a wolf had even worse table-manners than Dean as a human, apparently.
He sneezed every now and then, probably from the dust that had gathered over at least three years of no vacuum-cleaner, and even though it wasn’t the right time, Sam had to chuckle. He did so even more when the wolf turned to him and shot him an outraged glare. Really, how could something so obviously not his brother look at him in exactly the way Dean would? Maybe there was even more Dean in the animal than he’d thought.
“Don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be leaving as soon as we can. Uh… I just hope you can deal with being in a car” and hopefully, Dean would deal with the wolf-hair on the seats, not to mention the scratches in the leather that very probably couldn’t be avoided.
Or maybe they could.
Because when Sam went out to pack the bags in the car, keeping track of his wolf-brother who strolled out of the room and happily peed against the doorframe, he spotted the large blankets Dean must have put on the seats when he’d been out earlier. It made Sam smile and feel even more guilty for accusing Dean of being thoughtless, of forgetting his werewolf-ness.
“So, let’s get in the car” he said, hoping his brother would shine through enough in the wolf to just hop in. Sam opened the door to the backseat, clucked with his tongue to get Dean’s attention and waited. Nothing happened, except Dean looking at him and Sam would swear he was frowning. “C’m on, man .We haven’t got all night, and we really need to go. You weren’t exactly silent” and even if this really was the most disgusting motel they’d stayed in, in Sam’s entire life, there was the possibility somebody had called the police when he heard Dean’s pained cries.
The wolf sat down, tongue lolling mockingly, otherwise not moving.
“Dean…” Sam pleaded. “Please?”
Nothing.
“C’m on, buddy. Hop in,” he cheered.
Nothing.
“Hey, look! There is a cookie in the backseat” he cajoled, throwing cookies in the car.
Nothing.
“I’ll give you coffee?”
Nothing.
“Dean”
A yawn.
“Dean! Get in the fucking car, or I swear I’ll leave you here”
A twitch of the ear, but other than that: nothing.
Annoyed, Sam turned and went to the driver’s door, not actually leaving his brother but trying to bluff the animal into believing that was exactly his goal. The moment he opened the door, though, Dean was off, slipping past Sam and jumping into the car faster than should be possible. With a happy sigh, the wolf settled on the passenger-seat and curled up, looking at Sam from the top of his hind legs where his snout was resting. He would swear that his brother was giving him an evil grin, even though he wasn’t moving his lips.
“Fucker” Sam grumbled and closed the back door. “Could’ve just told me. Somehow.”
***
The wolf loved the rumble of this car moving den. It sounded like a growl, but a friendly one, and the scent of it was calming, making him feel sleepy and at home. The Sam was next to him, talking. He didn’t really get everything, but it sounded comfortable, not strained or stressed. He’d be stressed as well if Sam were to be stressed and stress was bad. Might lead to shedding, and he had no clue why losing fur would be bad -except of course for the obvious reasons - but something niggled in his mind that he really, really didn’t want to shed in this den.
The long thin leather leash hadn’t come out again, and Dean was ok with that. He hated that thing. He didn’t know it, but he knew he hated it. It wasn’t safe, it was dangerous, bad, ugly, even though Sam had held it. He knew that Sam wouldn’t hurt him, but the leather-band was dangerous and he didn’t trust it.
“Uh, careful” said his brother and before he could react in any way, the moving den slowed and he slipped down from the elevated, soft surface seat and into the cave-like space beneath it. He growled and scrambled back up, sitting this time so he could look out of the window opening-that-wasn’t-open. More of those metal dens were in front of them, and lightning was flashing though it was the wrong color. Accident came into his mind, but he didn’t know that word and so he just huffed.
“Accident” the Sam said and the wolf huffed again. “Won’t take long.”
.
.
.
It was boring. So, so boring. Their moving den wasn’t moving, the scenery outside was boring and dark and nothing was happening apart from his brother pack holding a flat, smell-less object in front of him once in a while that made a lightning and blinded Dean. He growled at it and Sam laughed and the he put the lightning-maker away.
In the air, he could smell wildlife rabbit, fox, coyote, bird, but his brother pack wouldn’t let him out. Sam huffed then and again, or talked to the wolf, or tried to sneak the flat lightning-maker out again, but the flash didn’t come anymore. The talking was nice, but usually Dean didn’t understand much, and if he did, Sam didn’t get his answer, so Sam stopped talking soon. Once, his brother had moved a little stone in the den and some awful, horrible sound had come from somewhere, loud and squeaky and badbadbadbad. Dean had at first tried to find the source and found it: some mesh close to the floor, where obviously the noisy things were hiding and making more noise. He’d growled at it and tried to tear the mesh away, but Sam had called him and moved the knob again and then there was quiet again.
And it was boring again.
“Dude, you’ll never believe me when I tell ya that you didn’t like ACDC”
Dean just yawned and shook his fur. There was something on his neck, and he tried to scratch it, but the space in the den car was too narrow. Twisting and turning, he tried to find a place to really scratch because it was a strange thing on him, and he wanted it gone.
“Dean, stop that” Sam grumbled but the wolf didn’t listen. He jumped to the other soft surface backseat and tried there. It was much better, and with a lot of gusto, he started to scratch.
And scratch.
And scratch.
“Dean, stop that. You’ll gonna kill me when you turn back. You’re shedding like crazy there” Sam had turned around, watching him, and the wolf didn’t mind. If Sam wanted to, he could join him. Or help him get rid of the stupid thing around his neck. “Dean!”
Not even rubbing against every surface was enough, the stupid thing collar wouldn’t budge, it stayed and the wolf was going crazy, writhing against the floor, the seat, the not-opening, even against Sam, who was trying to get away.
“Dean, stop, Dean” but he was laughing, and really, that wasn’t what Dean wanted. He wanted to get the thing off, not make Sam laugh, smile at him in a way that should make him think of bared teeth and a warning but instead made him see a wagging tail and a friendly play-face. His pack was so weird.
Something… He stopped. Stood stock-still and listened. Something was coming, he could hear it. Sam smiled at him again and now Dean could see the human-danger-man-danger behind his brother. Sam didn’t see it, didn’t notice! He had to take action, before something happened - again, his mind told him though he didn’t remember when that would’ve been. With a snarl and growl, he launched himself at the danger outside, past his pack’s face and over his legs, scratching, clawing, trying to rip at the smooth, cold stuff that prevented him from going out of the opening. It was like ice, only clearer, and it didn’t break, even as he put all his force into clawing, snapping and snarling at the face he’d seen.
***
A dull pain was cursing through Sam’s thighs where his brother’s considerable weight had rested and his long nails had dug into his jeans. The attack - or whatever you’d call that - had come out of nowhere, and for a split-second, Sam had been sure Dean would rip him apart. Only the startled scream from behind the window, coming from the shocked policeman who’d wanted to let them know they could pass had explained why Dean’d gone from scratching, funny-looking dog-lookalike to snarling, spitting fury.
It had shocked him more than he’d ever admit, the sudden change. He was glad that it wasn’t directed at him, but … what if? What if for some reason, Dean turned violent, out of the blue? Every thought he’d ever secretly harbored about being able to deal with his brother staying a werewolf went out the window, because he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever trust the wolf-form enough, not anymore.
Yes, he still believed that Dean wasn’t dangerous, but would he ever be able to spot the change if it came? He’d not been aware that anything was different, hadn’t even realized the policeman was behind him. Even if the wolf stayed normal, had the window been open, he’d ripped the man to shreds. The wolf wouldn’t hesitate to kill and maim, not when it came to protecting his brother - similar to the human side of Dean, and still so much more dangerous.
They were driving on now, the road once again free and open. The sky was dark and blue around them, but it didn’t bother Sam. They’d driven through the night more than once in their lives, and it made travelling easier. Backwood Creek was still miles away, but they’d probably be able to reach it in the early afternoon. He’d make sure they stopped before sunlight to let Dean shift back to human. Hopefully, it’d be less horrible than the other way round.
The wolf was sitting up the fifth time in seven minutes, wining and panting and filling the car with bad dog-breath that sadly didn’t hide the fact he’d eaten a whole pound of ground meet and intestines from the pet-store. The stuff had smelled evil when fed, and it smelled horrific being breathed into his face.
Dean’d been restless for a while now and Sam was pretty sure that he needed either water or…well, the opposite. He wasn’t sure what to do, though. If he opened the door, it was very much possible that Dean’d run and go hunting. It was too dangerous to even consider it, they were far away from cities and settlements, so probably nobody would be in danger of being killed or bitten by his brother. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t danger for Dean. The road was dark and twisty, a speeding car wouldn’t be able to see the black wolf fast enough to break, if the driver would even think about stopping for a ‘dog’.
No, he couldn’t let Dean run free. But the previous attempt to leash him hadn’t been exactly encouraging.
The wolf wined again, louder this time, and shifted on the seat. “I know, buddy” Sam agreed “I need to pee too.”
Sighing, he stopped the car at the side of the road where a small turn-off led somewhere into the desert. He carefully took the leash from its resting-place between the driver’s door and the seat, slipped it behind his back and around so it was hanging over the backrest. His arm slowly moved closer to Dean, like approaching the shoulder of a girlfriend-prospect in a dark cinema. His other hand was occupying Dean, distracting him - hopefully - with a cookie that he kept moving tantalizingly in front of the wolf’s nose “You’ll like that, huh? Think I’ll give it to ya?” he taunted, but with a low voice, trying to keep the level of stress and excitement to a bare minimum. Sam ignored the waterfall of drool that was seeping into his jeans and on the dashboard or whatever other surface he was holding the cookie over.
His brother would love to find the sticky stuff in his baby.
The arm with the leash reached around Dean, the clip already opened in his hand. He stroked the fur with the other fingers, getting closer and closer to the collar and when he did, carefully moving it so the D-ring was on the right side.
Dean was still distracted by the cookie when he clipped the leash on. Sam exhaled softly, the long leather-strap just resting over the seat. One end was in his hand and he gave Dean the cookie, which was crunched up scarily fast.
“Ok, let’s go”
Sam opened the driver’s door and went out, relieved that Dean decided to follow him out on that side instead of demanding his own exit. He didn’t want to be confined in the Impala when Dean found out he was leashed. The way the wolf had rubbed and scratched himself all over told him how much the animal part of Dean was in agreement with human-Dean concerning collars, but where his two-legged brother had been weary but resigned, the wolf had a lot less self-restraint.
The animal hopped out and stretched, first the front-legs dipping down until the chest nearly touched the ground, ass and tail up in the air, followed by the hind-legs stretched backwards until the toes cracked. Then, his brother opened his jaw and yawned so hard that Sam was worried the snout would crack open and the head would end up being inside-out. The teeth didn’t look any less dangerous from this angle.
After shaking out his fur, Dean started to trot towards the next scrap of hard desert-grass that was fighting a never-ending battle against wind, sun and reckless drivers. Sam hurried along, but he couldn’t prevent the leash tugging against the collar. Dean stopped and turned, glared at his brother who tried to smile sheepishly, but it was more of a painful grimace. The wolf lifted his lips and growled, spinning fast and trying to bite the leather that was attached to him, but Sam stepped to his left, lifting the leash away so the jaws snapped into the air.
That only fueled Dean’s anger, and he snapped and snarled and crouched, trying to yank the leash out of Sam’s hand with a sudden jump to the left, then to the right. He yowled in fury and Sam swallowed hard but still held onto the leash, prepared to do everything he could as long as Dean didn’t try to bite him. He had no idea what he’d do if Dean were to attack. If he let go, his brother would run and might be lost to him, not wanting to come back, at least not in wolf-form. Out here in the desert, a naked man wouldn’t have much chance to survive without serious damage. And if he fought him, taking the very real chance of getting bitten, he might either be seriously injured or would shift as well, and they still didn’t know if infecting someone else would be a trigger to a permanent shift.
Not that he had much time to think about it, Dean was still fighting the leash with a fury that rivaled a hungry wendigo. It took all Sam had in him to jump away from and around the snarling wolf, anticipating his moves so the animal couldn’t bite through the leash. He held it up, over Dean’s head on his outstretched arm, ensuring there was always space between him and his brother.
Unexpectedly, the wolf changed tactic, dropped and writhed on the ground, trying to get the leash and collar off him, entangling himself in the leather-band more and more, no matter what moves Sam tried to prevent it from happening. It was stupid and showed more desperation than fury, more panic than thought-out plan. When the wolf had managed to tie one hind-leg and one front-leg together and strapped up against his belly, he lay on the ground, unmoving, ribcage heaving and tongue lolling into the sand. He whined a little, looking scared and full of betrayal up at Sam.
That a strong-willed animal like this would look so helpless was wrong, so, so wrong. Not to mention the undeserved guilt Sam was hit with when the accusing yellow eyes met his.
“Don’t look at me like this” He crouched down next to his brother, gently unraveling the leash from his body “’Tis your own fault. We need this. You’re… you’re a wolf, and you wanna hunt, I know that, but you can’t. I ... I… Dean, please…” Sam didn’t know if the animal could understand him, but it was worth a try. If he understood or not, at least his brother didn’t react even when he was free of his binds. Only when Sam stood, clapping a hand against his leg to get rid of the sand did Dean move to stand as well, still panting.
“Let’s get down to business. We’ll be in Backwood Creek tomorrow and we’ll get rid of all this stuff. ‘Kay?”
No response, but the wolf followed when Sam moved towards the bushes, soon overtaking him and tugging hard on the leash to get to his goal faster.
Sam stumbled behind him, more than once nearly falling over some dry wood or stepping into a ditch. For some reason, the animal didn’t like the first twenty tufts of grass, sniffing them and moving on. After what felt like hours, Dean finally made the moves to indicate he was satisfied with this tuft to be his toilet and Sam turned his back to him, not wanting to know more about Dean crapping in the wilderness than he already did.
He let himself be pulled back to the car, and with no problem he got Dean to jump in.
.
.
From there on, the drive went by without further interruptions. Dean had curled up on the backseat, snoring now and again and snuffling annoyed when the car hit a pothole or Sam took the curve too fast. Not that much different to human Dean, really.
It was still dark when Sam couldn’t drive any further. There was no motel, as there hadn’t been any town-like settlement at all that they’d passed, but there was a camp-ground indicated next to the road. They’d long since left the desert behind and entered elk-country, which meant rolling hills of grass and light pine-forests with lots of space between the thick tree-trunks and hard, persevering grass to munch on, if you were an elk.
Sam had paid close attention to the roadside, he always did when they were driving through deer-country ever since he’d been thirteen and his dad had hit a young buck head-on during the evening.
It had been one of those horrible car-crashes that could’ve wiped out his entire family - him included - and one of the most normal things to die from, in these parts of the USA. Sam hadn’t been able to stop crying for two days, probably from the concussion he received when his head had collided with Dean’s hard scull, which had been hanging back over the backrest. His brother had been slumped in the seat, sleeping or pretending to while Sam had argued with their dad about something really unimportant but enthralling to him. It had for once been a friendly argument, John had been in a great mood and had looked over at his son who’d bent forward to get closer, only sitting on the edge of the seat, weight on his legs.
The “Holy shit!” had been the last thing he’d remembered, together with the pure horror in his father’s eyes before they hit something hard, a loud sound when the windshield cracked and then an even louder crack when the two boys’ heads had clonked together.
They’d been lucky. Dad had only had a broken arm and some bruised ribs and the boys had magically suffered only whiplash, concussion and one wrenched knee for Dean and one broken wrist for Sam.
So, ever since that evening, Sam scanned the treeline whenever they drove through wooded areas, and he’d noted a few glowing white eyes in the distance of the forest, but never close enough to the road to worry about.
The campground could be called basic, if you were in a good mood. There was nothing but a few lots to park or pitch the tent in and a dirt-path led up into the woods, probably to the toilet if you chose to believe the sign that said so. Sam didn’t bother to do anything but stop the engine and get two blankets from the trunk, wrapping himself in one and throwing the other over the backrest so Dean would find it in the morning. It’d be a crappy night, but he was tired enough to actually find some rest in the crouched position he had to stay in.
Chapter 11
Author:marlowe78
Rating: PG 13
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: a lot
Beta: soncnica
Spoilers: for s6, the basics
Warnings: Language, some blood is spilled.
Summary: Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp
Previous
It took a lot less time for Dean to shift than the first night, though probably longer than the night Dean’d been sleeping.
Sam had held on to his brother, gripping him tight and tried to block out the terror that welled up when he heard him moan, groan, cry and freaking howl in pain. It had looked just as horrible as it had the first time, the shifting muscles, the changing bones, the fur, the by now claw-like fingers, the tail. But even though it must have hurt terribly, it had gone much smoother than before, the shifts and breaks and tears of ligaments looking more like ripples in a pond than the violent cracks and waves of the first transformation.
When his brother’s body had developed fur, Sam’d backed away, not sure if the wolf would recognize him or if it would be mad with pain. He’d not passed out, after all, and being aware and an animal in a strange room with pain coursing through your body was a great reason to be a tad cranky towards the nearest target.
Sam really didn’t want to be the nearest target; he’d seen the jaws and teeth up close whenever Dean had yawned.
Now, his human older brother was once again an animal, the fur still scruffed from the writhing, and he was whimpering silently, eyes cloudy and far away. Apparently the shifting wasn’t painful as long as Dean wasn’t aware - be it asleep or unconscious. Maybe he’d knock his brother out next time… No, he shook his head. There wouldn’t be a next time! He’d make sure. Then again, if the woman didn’t have a cure? It never paid off to bet all you had on one number, and so maybe he would have to witness another change, so he might have to think about something to make it easier. That kind of horror was hard to watch, and leaving Dean alone to spare himself the agonizing watch wasn’t an option, would never be an option. He owed him much more than this, and one day, he knew, he might owe Dean the final bullet to the heart.
And even if it broke him, he would do it. Except how he wouldn’t need to, because they’d damn well get out of this situation!
“Hey Dean. You ok?”
The wolf raised his head slightly, but couldn’t hold it up. It sagged back and a long huff and hard exhale told Sam that though the body was still hurting, it would be all right later.
“Thirsty?”
The greenish-yellow eyes followed him to the bathroom, where Sam filled a plastic-container with water. He brought it over, held it under the wolf’s nose and watched as he took a few tentative sips. The angle wasn’t perfect for drinking, and Sam placed the bowl on the floor. “You can take more later, ok?”
The wolf didn’t nod, but Sam still imagined that it would have. He stroked the softer fur at the side of the animal’s neck, carefully checking if the collar was sitting right. It did. His brother, who usually hated touchy-feely-stuff, leaned into the caress and groaned happily, and for a few moments, Sam let both of them enjoy the comfort of touch. Dean wouldn’t know anyway, and it seemed the wolf was much smarter than his human part.
The opportunity was perfect. As long as his grey-brother was still groggy and pliant, he could easily attach the leash to the collar. It’d make things a lot easier and would give Sam more control over the situation, and more control meant more safety.
He grabbed the leash that’d been placed next to the TV on the small table and returned, but as he neared, he realized that his assumptions had been wrong. This would not be easy.
The wolf had his ears back, flat against the scull, sharp teeth bared. Instead of being relaxed as before, he was poised and alert, eyes fixed on the leash and a low, warning growl rolled from his throat.
“Uh… Dean?” No reaction, except that the growl turned up in volume. “It’s ok, we agreed, remember?” But the wolf had a different opinion, apparently.
Mixed into the deep rumble was now a snarl as the animal sucked in more breath. He was moving backwards, away from Sam, prepared to run but not to attack. Yet.
Sighing, Sam put the leash away.
At once, the snarling stopped and the wolf relaxed some, though the ears stayed tucked back and distrust in his eyes. It hurt to see that look on his brother, most of all because it was undeserved. “What now?” Sam asked and sat on his own bed. Dean didn’t answer, of course, but it seemed he’d let go of some suspicion. He slinked down from the bed, shaking out his fur and drinking noisily from the bowl before exploring the room, leaving drips of water all over the place and a large wet puddle around the bowl. Dean as a wolf had even worse table-manners than Dean as a human, apparently.
He sneezed every now and then, probably from the dust that had gathered over at least three years of no vacuum-cleaner, and even though it wasn’t the right time, Sam had to chuckle. He did so even more when the wolf turned to him and shot him an outraged glare. Really, how could something so obviously not his brother look at him in exactly the way Dean would? Maybe there was even more Dean in the animal than he’d thought.
“Don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be leaving as soon as we can. Uh… I just hope you can deal with being in a car” and hopefully, Dean would deal with the wolf-hair on the seats, not to mention the scratches in the leather that very probably couldn’t be avoided.
Or maybe they could.
Because when Sam went out to pack the bags in the car, keeping track of his wolf-brother who strolled out of the room and happily peed against the doorframe, he spotted the large blankets Dean must have put on the seats when he’d been out earlier. It made Sam smile and feel even more guilty for accusing Dean of being thoughtless, of forgetting his werewolf-ness.
“So, let’s get in the car” he said, hoping his brother would shine through enough in the wolf to just hop in. Sam opened the door to the backseat, clucked with his tongue to get Dean’s attention and waited. Nothing happened, except Dean looking at him and Sam would swear he was frowning. “C’m on, man .We haven’t got all night, and we really need to go. You weren’t exactly silent” and even if this really was the most disgusting motel they’d stayed in, in Sam’s entire life, there was the possibility somebody had called the police when he heard Dean’s pained cries.
The wolf sat down, tongue lolling mockingly, otherwise not moving.
“Dean…” Sam pleaded. “Please?”
Nothing.
“C’m on, buddy. Hop in,” he cheered.
Nothing.
“Hey, look! There is a cookie in the backseat” he cajoled, throwing cookies in the car.
Nothing.
“I’ll give you coffee?”
Nothing.
“Dean”
A yawn.
“Dean! Get in the fucking car, or I swear I’ll leave you here”
A twitch of the ear, but other than that: nothing.
Annoyed, Sam turned and went to the driver’s door, not actually leaving his brother but trying to bluff the animal into believing that was exactly his goal. The moment he opened the door, though, Dean was off, slipping past Sam and jumping into the car faster than should be possible. With a happy sigh, the wolf settled on the passenger-seat and curled up, looking at Sam from the top of his hind legs where his snout was resting. He would swear that his brother was giving him an evil grin, even though he wasn’t moving his lips.
“Fucker” Sam grumbled and closed the back door. “Could’ve just told me. Somehow.”
***
The wolf loved the rumble of this car moving den. It sounded like a growl, but a friendly one, and the scent of it was calming, making him feel sleepy and at home. The Sam was next to him, talking. He didn’t really get everything, but it sounded comfortable, not strained or stressed. He’d be stressed as well if Sam were to be stressed and stress was bad. Might lead to shedding, and he had no clue why losing fur would be bad -except of course for the obvious reasons - but something niggled in his mind that he really, really didn’t want to shed in this den.
The long thin leather leash hadn’t come out again, and Dean was ok with that. He hated that thing. He didn’t know it, but he knew he hated it. It wasn’t safe, it was dangerous, bad, ugly, even though Sam had held it. He knew that Sam wouldn’t hurt him, but the leather-band was dangerous and he didn’t trust it.
“Uh, careful” said his brother and before he could react in any way, the moving den slowed and he slipped down from the elevated, soft surface seat and into the cave-like space beneath it. He growled and scrambled back up, sitting this time so he could look out of the window opening-that-wasn’t-open. More of those metal dens were in front of them, and lightning was flashing though it was the wrong color. Accident came into his mind, but he didn’t know that word and so he just huffed.
“Accident” the Sam said and the wolf huffed again. “Won’t take long.”
.
.
.
It was boring. So, so boring. Their moving den wasn’t moving, the scenery outside was boring and dark and nothing was happening apart from his brother pack holding a flat, smell-less object in front of him once in a while that made a lightning and blinded Dean. He growled at it and Sam laughed and the he put the lightning-maker away.
In the air, he could smell wildlife rabbit, fox, coyote, bird, but his brother pack wouldn’t let him out. Sam huffed then and again, or talked to the wolf, or tried to sneak the flat lightning-maker out again, but the flash didn’t come anymore. The talking was nice, but usually Dean didn’t understand much, and if he did, Sam didn’t get his answer, so Sam stopped talking soon. Once, his brother had moved a little stone in the den and some awful, horrible sound had come from somewhere, loud and squeaky and badbadbadbad. Dean had at first tried to find the source and found it: some mesh close to the floor, where obviously the noisy things were hiding and making more noise. He’d growled at it and tried to tear the mesh away, but Sam had called him and moved the knob again and then there was quiet again.
And it was boring again.
“Dude, you’ll never believe me when I tell ya that you didn’t like ACDC”
Dean just yawned and shook his fur. There was something on his neck, and he tried to scratch it, but the space in the den car was too narrow. Twisting and turning, he tried to find a place to really scratch because it was a strange thing on him, and he wanted it gone.
“Dean, stop that” Sam grumbled but the wolf didn’t listen. He jumped to the other soft surface backseat and tried there. It was much better, and with a lot of gusto, he started to scratch.
And scratch.
And scratch.
“Dean, stop that. You’ll gonna kill me when you turn back. You’re shedding like crazy there” Sam had turned around, watching him, and the wolf didn’t mind. If Sam wanted to, he could join him. Or help him get rid of the stupid thing around his neck. “Dean!”
Not even rubbing against every surface was enough, the stupid thing collar wouldn’t budge, it stayed and the wolf was going crazy, writhing against the floor, the seat, the not-opening, even against Sam, who was trying to get away.
“Dean, stop, Dean” but he was laughing, and really, that wasn’t what Dean wanted. He wanted to get the thing off, not make Sam laugh, smile at him in a way that should make him think of bared teeth and a warning but instead made him see a wagging tail and a friendly play-face. His pack was so weird.
Something… He stopped. Stood stock-still and listened. Something was coming, he could hear it. Sam smiled at him again and now Dean could see the human-danger-man-danger behind his brother. Sam didn’t see it, didn’t notice! He had to take action, before something happened - again, his mind told him though he didn’t remember when that would’ve been. With a snarl and growl, he launched himself at the danger outside, past his pack’s face and over his legs, scratching, clawing, trying to rip at the smooth, cold stuff that prevented him from going out of the opening. It was like ice, only clearer, and it didn’t break, even as he put all his force into clawing, snapping and snarling at the face he’d seen.
***
A dull pain was cursing through Sam’s thighs where his brother’s considerable weight had rested and his long nails had dug into his jeans. The attack - or whatever you’d call that - had come out of nowhere, and for a split-second, Sam had been sure Dean would rip him apart. Only the startled scream from behind the window, coming from the shocked policeman who’d wanted to let them know they could pass had explained why Dean’d gone from scratching, funny-looking dog-lookalike to snarling, spitting fury.
It had shocked him more than he’d ever admit, the sudden change. He was glad that it wasn’t directed at him, but … what if? What if for some reason, Dean turned violent, out of the blue? Every thought he’d ever secretly harbored about being able to deal with his brother staying a werewolf went out the window, because he couldn’t imagine that he’d ever trust the wolf-form enough, not anymore.
Yes, he still believed that Dean wasn’t dangerous, but would he ever be able to spot the change if it came? He’d not been aware that anything was different, hadn’t even realized the policeman was behind him. Even if the wolf stayed normal, had the window been open, he’d ripped the man to shreds. The wolf wouldn’t hesitate to kill and maim, not when it came to protecting his brother - similar to the human side of Dean, and still so much more dangerous.
They were driving on now, the road once again free and open. The sky was dark and blue around them, but it didn’t bother Sam. They’d driven through the night more than once in their lives, and it made travelling easier. Backwood Creek was still miles away, but they’d probably be able to reach it in the early afternoon. He’d make sure they stopped before sunlight to let Dean shift back to human. Hopefully, it’d be less horrible than the other way round.
The wolf was sitting up the fifth time in seven minutes, wining and panting and filling the car with bad dog-breath that sadly didn’t hide the fact he’d eaten a whole pound of ground meet and intestines from the pet-store. The stuff had smelled evil when fed, and it smelled horrific being breathed into his face.
Dean’d been restless for a while now and Sam was pretty sure that he needed either water or…well, the opposite. He wasn’t sure what to do, though. If he opened the door, it was very much possible that Dean’d run and go hunting. It was too dangerous to even consider it, they were far away from cities and settlements, so probably nobody would be in danger of being killed or bitten by his brother. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t danger for Dean. The road was dark and twisty, a speeding car wouldn’t be able to see the black wolf fast enough to break, if the driver would even think about stopping for a ‘dog’.
No, he couldn’t let Dean run free. But the previous attempt to leash him hadn’t been exactly encouraging.
The wolf wined again, louder this time, and shifted on the seat. “I know, buddy” Sam agreed “I need to pee too.”
Sighing, he stopped the car at the side of the road where a small turn-off led somewhere into the desert. He carefully took the leash from its resting-place between the driver’s door and the seat, slipped it behind his back and around so it was hanging over the backrest. His arm slowly moved closer to Dean, like approaching the shoulder of a girlfriend-prospect in a dark cinema. His other hand was occupying Dean, distracting him - hopefully - with a cookie that he kept moving tantalizingly in front of the wolf’s nose “You’ll like that, huh? Think I’ll give it to ya?” he taunted, but with a low voice, trying to keep the level of stress and excitement to a bare minimum. Sam ignored the waterfall of drool that was seeping into his jeans and on the dashboard or whatever other surface he was holding the cookie over.
His brother would love to find the sticky stuff in his baby.
The arm with the leash reached around Dean, the clip already opened in his hand. He stroked the fur with the other fingers, getting closer and closer to the collar and when he did, carefully moving it so the D-ring was on the right side.
Dean was still distracted by the cookie when he clipped the leash on. Sam exhaled softly, the long leather-strap just resting over the seat. One end was in his hand and he gave Dean the cookie, which was crunched up scarily fast.
“Ok, let’s go”
Sam opened the driver’s door and went out, relieved that Dean decided to follow him out on that side instead of demanding his own exit. He didn’t want to be confined in the Impala when Dean found out he was leashed. The way the wolf had rubbed and scratched himself all over told him how much the animal part of Dean was in agreement with human-Dean concerning collars, but where his two-legged brother had been weary but resigned, the wolf had a lot less self-restraint.
The animal hopped out and stretched, first the front-legs dipping down until the chest nearly touched the ground, ass and tail up in the air, followed by the hind-legs stretched backwards until the toes cracked. Then, his brother opened his jaw and yawned so hard that Sam was worried the snout would crack open and the head would end up being inside-out. The teeth didn’t look any less dangerous from this angle.
After shaking out his fur, Dean started to trot towards the next scrap of hard desert-grass that was fighting a never-ending battle against wind, sun and reckless drivers. Sam hurried along, but he couldn’t prevent the leash tugging against the collar. Dean stopped and turned, glared at his brother who tried to smile sheepishly, but it was more of a painful grimace. The wolf lifted his lips and growled, spinning fast and trying to bite the leather that was attached to him, but Sam stepped to his left, lifting the leash away so the jaws snapped into the air.
That only fueled Dean’s anger, and he snapped and snarled and crouched, trying to yank the leash out of Sam’s hand with a sudden jump to the left, then to the right. He yowled in fury and Sam swallowed hard but still held onto the leash, prepared to do everything he could as long as Dean didn’t try to bite him. He had no idea what he’d do if Dean were to attack. If he let go, his brother would run and might be lost to him, not wanting to come back, at least not in wolf-form. Out here in the desert, a naked man wouldn’t have much chance to survive without serious damage. And if he fought him, taking the very real chance of getting bitten, he might either be seriously injured or would shift as well, and they still didn’t know if infecting someone else would be a trigger to a permanent shift.
Not that he had much time to think about it, Dean was still fighting the leash with a fury that rivaled a hungry wendigo. It took all Sam had in him to jump away from and around the snarling wolf, anticipating his moves so the animal couldn’t bite through the leash. He held it up, over Dean’s head on his outstretched arm, ensuring there was always space between him and his brother.
Unexpectedly, the wolf changed tactic, dropped and writhed on the ground, trying to get the leash and collar off him, entangling himself in the leather-band more and more, no matter what moves Sam tried to prevent it from happening. It was stupid and showed more desperation than fury, more panic than thought-out plan. When the wolf had managed to tie one hind-leg and one front-leg together and strapped up against his belly, he lay on the ground, unmoving, ribcage heaving and tongue lolling into the sand. He whined a little, looking scared and full of betrayal up at Sam.
That a strong-willed animal like this would look so helpless was wrong, so, so wrong. Not to mention the undeserved guilt Sam was hit with when the accusing yellow eyes met his.
“Don’t look at me like this” He crouched down next to his brother, gently unraveling the leash from his body “’Tis your own fault. We need this. You’re… you’re a wolf, and you wanna hunt, I know that, but you can’t. I ... I… Dean, please…” Sam didn’t know if the animal could understand him, but it was worth a try. If he understood or not, at least his brother didn’t react even when he was free of his binds. Only when Sam stood, clapping a hand against his leg to get rid of the sand did Dean move to stand as well, still panting.
“Let’s get down to business. We’ll be in Backwood Creek tomorrow and we’ll get rid of all this stuff. ‘Kay?”
No response, but the wolf followed when Sam moved towards the bushes, soon overtaking him and tugging hard on the leash to get to his goal faster.
Sam stumbled behind him, more than once nearly falling over some dry wood or stepping into a ditch. For some reason, the animal didn’t like the first twenty tufts of grass, sniffing them and moving on. After what felt like hours, Dean finally made the moves to indicate he was satisfied with this tuft to be his toilet and Sam turned his back to him, not wanting to know more about Dean crapping in the wilderness than he already did.
He let himself be pulled back to the car, and with no problem he got Dean to jump in.
.
.
From there on, the drive went by without further interruptions. Dean had curled up on the backseat, snoring now and again and snuffling annoyed when the car hit a pothole or Sam took the curve too fast. Not that much different to human Dean, really.
It was still dark when Sam couldn’t drive any further. There was no motel, as there hadn’t been any town-like settlement at all that they’d passed, but there was a camp-ground indicated next to the road. They’d long since left the desert behind and entered elk-country, which meant rolling hills of grass and light pine-forests with lots of space between the thick tree-trunks and hard, persevering grass to munch on, if you were an elk.
Sam had paid close attention to the roadside, he always did when they were driving through deer-country ever since he’d been thirteen and his dad had hit a young buck head-on during the evening.
It had been one of those horrible car-crashes that could’ve wiped out his entire family - him included - and one of the most normal things to die from, in these parts of the USA. Sam hadn’t been able to stop crying for two days, probably from the concussion he received when his head had collided with Dean’s hard scull, which had been hanging back over the backrest. His brother had been slumped in the seat, sleeping or pretending to while Sam had argued with their dad about something really unimportant but enthralling to him. It had for once been a friendly argument, John had been in a great mood and had looked over at his son who’d bent forward to get closer, only sitting on the edge of the seat, weight on his legs.
The “Holy shit!” had been the last thing he’d remembered, together with the pure horror in his father’s eyes before they hit something hard, a loud sound when the windshield cracked and then an even louder crack when the two boys’ heads had clonked together.
They’d been lucky. Dad had only had a broken arm and some bruised ribs and the boys had magically suffered only whiplash, concussion and one wrenched knee for Dean and one broken wrist for Sam.
So, ever since that evening, Sam scanned the treeline whenever they drove through wooded areas, and he’d noted a few glowing white eyes in the distance of the forest, but never close enough to the road to worry about.
The campground could be called basic, if you were in a good mood. There was nothing but a few lots to park or pitch the tent in and a dirt-path led up into the woods, probably to the toilet if you chose to believe the sign that said so. Sam didn’t bother to do anything but stop the engine and get two blankets from the trunk, wrapping himself in one and throwing the other over the backrest so Dean would find it in the morning. It’d be a crappy night, but he was tired enough to actually find some rest in the crouched position he had to stay in.
Chapter 11