Crescendo of the Moon: (3/?)
Previous chapters can be found here.
Three
Sam emerged from the shower, hair still dripping down the back of his neck and dotting the collar of his clean shirt with dark water spots. Dean had moved from his brooding table position to a nonchalant recline on the bed, where he punched the television remote to alternate between the local weather channel and an unrecognizable movie that appeared to be made two decades ago. Sam knew that the subject of the last hunt had been dropped entirely, and if he were to bring it up again in a further attempt to help, it would merely be asking for trouble because Dean had divulged all that he wanted to. So Sam brought out his laptop, noticing with a small sigh at how its condition was quickly dilapidating from one trip to the next. Even though he tried to keep his computer in good condition as if a reminder of the normal life he had once had, such worries were shifting to the back of his mind when his forefront concerns resided in the fate of human lives.
Sam sat down at the table and turned on the computer, the sound of its small fan’s humming drowned out by Dean’s program. Since there was no available Internet connection for Sam to research with, he settled on playing a trivial game, lamenting that he hadn’t downloaded anything fun when he had the chance. He had just beaten the computer for the second time at a card game, when Dean spoke from the bed, “We’ve got to get some cash.”
“Yeah?” Sam responded with a furtive glance towards Dean who still had not removed his eyes from the television screen. The balding meteorologist waved his hand towards a map of red and blue waves riding over the digital states before he reported temperatures higher than any the brothers had seen since leaving the Midwestern states. Sam struggled to remember the last time he had seen triple digits on the Fahrenheit scale.
“I need pocket cash,” Dean continued, apparently unfazed by the brutal weather conditions. “Credit cards are nice and all, but hell, it’s kinda difficult to bribe someone waving a piece of plastic in front of their face.”
“So…” Sam drummed his fingers over the faded keys of the computer. While he sensed what Dean was planning, he had a silent hope that he was wrong about his brother’s motives yet again.
Dean sighed heavily. “Have you learned nothing all this time?” He allowed a long pause for Sam to come to the own realization of what he was thinking.
“Not the bar,” Sam replied, although his words came out as more of a whine that quickly embarrassed him. “Dean, those places are so… sleazy, and it’s just wrong.”
“Wrong? Dammit, it’s cash, and if I hustle a bit, what’s the big deal? We gotta eat too, y’know.”
“You’re cheating people out of their money.”
“You’re choosing now to give me a lecture on morals? I thought we covered this ‘bout five cities ago.”
“No. I’m not lecturing you because you wouldn’t listen anyway.”
Dean nodded to affirm the idea, and then laughed. “Damn right I wouldn’t. I’m glad we’re agreed on this, then. Bar tonight it is.”
As Sam rolled his eyes and muttered a sarcastic comment under his breath, Dean pretended not to notice and changed the channel back to the movie. While the female actress bemoaned her life and her boyfriend offered comfort, Dean slipped down further onto the bed. Less than a half an hour later, he was sleeping soundly, sunk into the flat mess of pillows on the bed. It wasn’t until the movie had ended to spin into infomercials that Sam rose from his computer. Gently, he took the remote from his brother’s limp hand and turned off the television himself.
The bar they visited later that night was just as seedy as Sam had expected and just as enjoyable as Dean had hoped. Dean, sensing that the pool game was already in his favor, swaggered around the table cockily. Ignoring the four inch gash in his right calf muscle, he snapped on his heels in a pompous sort of way as if to demonstrate to the other players his superior skills. When he leaned over the green table with his gray shirt spotted dark around the neckline with perspiration and stretched taunt across his injured back muscles, he sent the colored balls spiraling with sharp cracks into their respective pockets. It seemed like it had been forever since he had played a good, rough game of pool, and at last, he could forget all the troubles from the days past. Cold, golden alcohol and dog-eared dollar bills would help to assuage the pain. The harder the pain ate at him, the harder he would push it away.
The man playing against Dean was shorter than him, but at least fifty pounds heavier, and he was clearly becoming frustrated over his loss towards this smug kid younger than him. But there were seventy-five dollars already in question over the game, and neither Dean nor his opponent was willing to back down now. As the man bent down to look at the striped balls, Dean rested his hands on the bottom of the cue.
“Take your time,” he smirked to the man. “I’ll wait.”
The man looked up from beneath his maroon baseball cap and glared.
Across the room from the pool table, Sam was nursing his first beer with his back to the commotion Dean was causing. Since arriving at the pub, Sam had only seen his older brother during the brief moments Dean sauntered back to the bar a few times to purchase another beer. Dean’s absence provided Sam with the time he wanted to thumb through the local newspaper for any stories that could point to supernatural occurrences. However, he had been unable to find anything of interest, and he assumed that if they visited the library tomorrow, he would be able to use the Internet to scour other sources for a new case so Dean and he could leave the godforsaken town. For the time being, Sam resorted to reading a local woman’s editorial about her lost cat.
Sam was still not finished with his drink when Dean approached and grabbed Sam by the forearm. His eyes were blazing happily and his skin glistened with perspiration. When he spoke, Sam could smell the bittersweet scent of alcohol on his breath and the muddy odor of cigarette smoke in his hair. “I think,” Dean said, fumbling with a crumpled assortment of bills in his hand, “we need to get going for the night.” Sam followed Dean’s gaze to the angry men by the pool table, one of which tapped his cue stick against his hand threateningly.
“I think I can agree with that,” Sam replied, nodding his head quickly. Dean was already out the door by the time Sam swung his legs off the stool and exited the bar into the night.
Back at the motel, Dean counted out his winnings on his bed, dividing the bills into their respective piles before he gave a pleased declaration of the total. Not long after he put the money away, he climbed back under the covers and fell asleep faster than Sam assumed he would have been able to, given all the hours of sleep he had already accumulated that day. Sam finished reading the newspaper and glanced over at Dean, who was breathing easily with one hand slipped beneath his pillow where he kept his large knife. Quietly, Sam folded the paper, turned off the lights, and pulled the blankets around his body.
It was hours later when he was jolted from the shrouds of sleep by the cursed screams of pain. The bellows were torn and throaty, yet familiar in their timbre. Something hard fell against the ground and there was a hissing sound. Again, a deep cry of pure agony followed, “Sa-am!”
Sam jerked upright in his bed, heart flying out of his chest in panic.
Dean.
He turned to face Dean’s bed to see a large shape hunched above his older brother, snarling with every punch and kick Dean threw. Still partially disoriented from the sudden snap into the waking world, Sam groped with thick, stubborn fingers under his bed for the gun.
Against Dean’s face, the creature’s breath was wet and thick with the scent of decaying flesh. When Dean struggled to reach for the knife under his pillow, the monster snatched Dean’s wrists in one of its fists to pin both of his hands above his head. Dean attempted to bring his legs up from underneath him to kick the beast off, but doing so proved futile. The shadowed attacker not only outweighed him, but was also incredibly strong and resilient, and Dean’s efforts were no more effective than if the monster had been made from stone. Suddenly, the creature swung its head down and plunged its long teeth into his chest. Dean screamed, arching his back and thrashing his body wildly against the pain. The abrupt anguish was so overwhelming that when there was an explosion of thunder, he thought he was imagining the blessed sound of a gun.
The monster’s head lurched up, Dean’s blood dripping from its fangs onto his face, and it uttered a high pitched shriek that rattled the walls. As it scuttled off Dean’s chest, Sam aimed the gun and fired again. Moving faster than either of the brother’s eyes could follow, the creature disappeared out the opened door into the night with a continued angry snarl. By the time Sam ran to the doorway, gun still in hand, the beast was already gone to the protection of the night.
He stood for a minute in the doorway until he heard Dean’s voice, pinched and breathless, from behind him. “Well, don’t just stand there, dumbass…Give me a hand, will ya?” As if waking from an intoxicating dream, Sam fumbled with the light switch and hurried back to Dean, who was already sitting up and examining the marks across his left pectoral muscle. Even before he came close, Sam knew that the wounds, although sizable in surface area, were not deep enough for any serious blood loss. From one of their bags, he produced a first aid kit and sat down on his own bed across from Dean.
“What the hell was that thing?” Sam asked, as Dean greedily snatched the wad of scratchy tissues from Sam and began to blot away the blood.
“Something with a nasty bite, I know that much.”
“Could you tell what it looked like?”
“Sam,” Dean stated with a raised eyebrow of annoyance towards his brother, “I was getting attacked by a giant mutant monster in the dark. Last time I checked, I don’t see in the dark, so what do you think?” He paused and rubbed dots of antibiotic ointment over the gashes, wincing only slightly at the pain. His breathing was becoming more evened and relaxed as he continued talking. “Nice shot, though, for being half blind and all ‘cause I think you hit it.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, taking the bloody wads of tissues from Dean and handing him a strip of butterfly bandages to seal the wounds closed. They sat in silence until Sam leaned across the bed where he noticed splashes of the creature’s blood on the beige colored sheets. Intermingled with the darkening crimson spots, there appeared to be several flecks of skin. “What the hell?” Sam whispered as he picked up the pieces and brought them closer to the bedside lamp.
The pieces were scale like in texture, approximately as big as some of the guitar picks Sam had seen in college. Under the bright illumination, they caught the light and threw it against the walls with their green tones. Rubbing the pad of his thumb over one of the scales to wipe away the blood, Sam felt the silken texture of the offset shaped triangle.
“Looks like snake scales,” Sam commented.
“That wasn’t any damn snake jumping on my chest, though,” Dean replied. “Snakes don’t have legs, college boy. Think bigger. Reptile, yes, but we’re talkin’ big.” He took the scale from Sam, and his eyes abruptly grew wide as if he had just touched a hot stove. Immediately, his mouth began to twist in the formation of a scream while his hands trembled violently. Frantically, Sam clutched Dean’s wrist and pried the scale from his brother’s fingers.
“Dean?” When there was no response, Sam raised his voice, “Dean!”
Dean gave a jerked motion of his limbs, as if he was awakening from a different state of consciousness. He blinked rapidly, allowing his eyes to skitter over the walls before resting back on Sam. “Yeah? What?”
“You okay? You kinda went out of it there.”
“Fine, just…twisted funny. The bite marks hurt really bad.”
“You’re such a liar.”
Dean shook his head, struggling to clear it before glancing back at Sam who looked at him through large, brown eyes, pinched around the edges in worry. Even if Sam did suspect that something was amiss, Dean could never admit to it. Sam must always be kept safe, no matter what would happen to Dean. “You’ll never prove it, though.”
Sam gave an exasperated sigh of defeat and decided to change the subject. “How big?”
“What?”
“The creature. How big was it?”
Dean shrugged and looked back at the shallow teeth marks where the white butterfly bandages kissed his tanned skin. “Probably ‘bout your height, heavier though.”
“Over two hundred pounds?”
“Maybe. I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t up for taking stats when it had its jaw in my chest.”
Sam waited a beat before speaking again. “I take it we’ve got some research to do, then.”
Dean looked up from his chest, refusing to acknowledge how close he had come to tasting death yet again. Briefly, he thought of what he had experienced when he touched his mutant attacker’s scale and how his entire world had turned upside down during that moment. Instead of dwelling on such negativities, he forced a smile for Sam’s sake and slapped his younger brother on the knee, while he rose to his feet. “That we do, Sammy. Time to get back to business.”
Chapter Four
Three
Sam emerged from the shower, hair still dripping down the back of his neck and dotting the collar of his clean shirt with dark water spots. Dean had moved from his brooding table position to a nonchalant recline on the bed, where he punched the television remote to alternate between the local weather channel and an unrecognizable movie that appeared to be made two decades ago. Sam knew that the subject of the last hunt had been dropped entirely, and if he were to bring it up again in a further attempt to help, it would merely be asking for trouble because Dean had divulged all that he wanted to. So Sam brought out his laptop, noticing with a small sigh at how its condition was quickly dilapidating from one trip to the next. Even though he tried to keep his computer in good condition as if a reminder of the normal life he had once had, such worries were shifting to the back of his mind when his forefront concerns resided in the fate of human lives.
Sam sat down at the table and turned on the computer, the sound of its small fan’s humming drowned out by Dean’s program. Since there was no available Internet connection for Sam to research with, he settled on playing a trivial game, lamenting that he hadn’t downloaded anything fun when he had the chance. He had just beaten the computer for the second time at a card game, when Dean spoke from the bed, “We’ve got to get some cash.”
“Yeah?” Sam responded with a furtive glance towards Dean who still had not removed his eyes from the television screen. The balding meteorologist waved his hand towards a map of red and blue waves riding over the digital states before he reported temperatures higher than any the brothers had seen since leaving the Midwestern states. Sam struggled to remember the last time he had seen triple digits on the Fahrenheit scale.
“I need pocket cash,” Dean continued, apparently unfazed by the brutal weather conditions. “Credit cards are nice and all, but hell, it’s kinda difficult to bribe someone waving a piece of plastic in front of their face.”
“So…” Sam drummed his fingers over the faded keys of the computer. While he sensed what Dean was planning, he had a silent hope that he was wrong about his brother’s motives yet again.
Dean sighed heavily. “Have you learned nothing all this time?” He allowed a long pause for Sam to come to the own realization of what he was thinking.
“Not the bar,” Sam replied, although his words came out as more of a whine that quickly embarrassed him. “Dean, those places are so… sleazy, and it’s just wrong.”
“Wrong? Dammit, it’s cash, and if I hustle a bit, what’s the big deal? We gotta eat too, y’know.”
“You’re cheating people out of their money.”
“You’re choosing now to give me a lecture on morals? I thought we covered this ‘bout five cities ago.”
“No. I’m not lecturing you because you wouldn’t listen anyway.”
Dean nodded to affirm the idea, and then laughed. “Damn right I wouldn’t. I’m glad we’re agreed on this, then. Bar tonight it is.”
As Sam rolled his eyes and muttered a sarcastic comment under his breath, Dean pretended not to notice and changed the channel back to the movie. While the female actress bemoaned her life and her boyfriend offered comfort, Dean slipped down further onto the bed. Less than a half an hour later, he was sleeping soundly, sunk into the flat mess of pillows on the bed. It wasn’t until the movie had ended to spin into infomercials that Sam rose from his computer. Gently, he took the remote from his brother’s limp hand and turned off the television himself.
The bar they visited later that night was just as seedy as Sam had expected and just as enjoyable as Dean had hoped. Dean, sensing that the pool game was already in his favor, swaggered around the table cockily. Ignoring the four inch gash in his right calf muscle, he snapped on his heels in a pompous sort of way as if to demonstrate to the other players his superior skills. When he leaned over the green table with his gray shirt spotted dark around the neckline with perspiration and stretched taunt across his injured back muscles, he sent the colored balls spiraling with sharp cracks into their respective pockets. It seemed like it had been forever since he had played a good, rough game of pool, and at last, he could forget all the troubles from the days past. Cold, golden alcohol and dog-eared dollar bills would help to assuage the pain. The harder the pain ate at him, the harder he would push it away.
The man playing against Dean was shorter than him, but at least fifty pounds heavier, and he was clearly becoming frustrated over his loss towards this smug kid younger than him. But there were seventy-five dollars already in question over the game, and neither Dean nor his opponent was willing to back down now. As the man bent down to look at the striped balls, Dean rested his hands on the bottom of the cue.
“Take your time,” he smirked to the man. “I’ll wait.”
The man looked up from beneath his maroon baseball cap and glared.
Across the room from the pool table, Sam was nursing his first beer with his back to the commotion Dean was causing. Since arriving at the pub, Sam had only seen his older brother during the brief moments Dean sauntered back to the bar a few times to purchase another beer. Dean’s absence provided Sam with the time he wanted to thumb through the local newspaper for any stories that could point to supernatural occurrences. However, he had been unable to find anything of interest, and he assumed that if they visited the library tomorrow, he would be able to use the Internet to scour other sources for a new case so Dean and he could leave the godforsaken town. For the time being, Sam resorted to reading a local woman’s editorial about her lost cat.
Sam was still not finished with his drink when Dean approached and grabbed Sam by the forearm. His eyes were blazing happily and his skin glistened with perspiration. When he spoke, Sam could smell the bittersweet scent of alcohol on his breath and the muddy odor of cigarette smoke in his hair. “I think,” Dean said, fumbling with a crumpled assortment of bills in his hand, “we need to get going for the night.” Sam followed Dean’s gaze to the angry men by the pool table, one of which tapped his cue stick against his hand threateningly.
“I think I can agree with that,” Sam replied, nodding his head quickly. Dean was already out the door by the time Sam swung his legs off the stool and exited the bar into the night.
Back at the motel, Dean counted out his winnings on his bed, dividing the bills into their respective piles before he gave a pleased declaration of the total. Not long after he put the money away, he climbed back under the covers and fell asleep faster than Sam assumed he would have been able to, given all the hours of sleep he had already accumulated that day. Sam finished reading the newspaper and glanced over at Dean, who was breathing easily with one hand slipped beneath his pillow where he kept his large knife. Quietly, Sam folded the paper, turned off the lights, and pulled the blankets around his body.
It was hours later when he was jolted from the shrouds of sleep by the cursed screams of pain. The bellows were torn and throaty, yet familiar in their timbre. Something hard fell against the ground and there was a hissing sound. Again, a deep cry of pure agony followed, “Sa-am!”
Sam jerked upright in his bed, heart flying out of his chest in panic.
Dean.
He turned to face Dean’s bed to see a large shape hunched above his older brother, snarling with every punch and kick Dean threw. Still partially disoriented from the sudden snap into the waking world, Sam groped with thick, stubborn fingers under his bed for the gun.
Against Dean’s face, the creature’s breath was wet and thick with the scent of decaying flesh. When Dean struggled to reach for the knife under his pillow, the monster snatched Dean’s wrists in one of its fists to pin both of his hands above his head. Dean attempted to bring his legs up from underneath him to kick the beast off, but doing so proved futile. The shadowed attacker not only outweighed him, but was also incredibly strong and resilient, and Dean’s efforts were no more effective than if the monster had been made from stone. Suddenly, the creature swung its head down and plunged its long teeth into his chest. Dean screamed, arching his back and thrashing his body wildly against the pain. The abrupt anguish was so overwhelming that when there was an explosion of thunder, he thought he was imagining the blessed sound of a gun.
The monster’s head lurched up, Dean’s blood dripping from its fangs onto his face, and it uttered a high pitched shriek that rattled the walls. As it scuttled off Dean’s chest, Sam aimed the gun and fired again. Moving faster than either of the brother’s eyes could follow, the creature disappeared out the opened door into the night with a continued angry snarl. By the time Sam ran to the doorway, gun still in hand, the beast was already gone to the protection of the night.
He stood for a minute in the doorway until he heard Dean’s voice, pinched and breathless, from behind him. “Well, don’t just stand there, dumbass…Give me a hand, will ya?” As if waking from an intoxicating dream, Sam fumbled with the light switch and hurried back to Dean, who was already sitting up and examining the marks across his left pectoral muscle. Even before he came close, Sam knew that the wounds, although sizable in surface area, were not deep enough for any serious blood loss. From one of their bags, he produced a first aid kit and sat down on his own bed across from Dean.
“What the hell was that thing?” Sam asked, as Dean greedily snatched the wad of scratchy tissues from Sam and began to blot away the blood.
“Something with a nasty bite, I know that much.”
“Could you tell what it looked like?”
“Sam,” Dean stated with a raised eyebrow of annoyance towards his brother, “I was getting attacked by a giant mutant monster in the dark. Last time I checked, I don’t see in the dark, so what do you think?” He paused and rubbed dots of antibiotic ointment over the gashes, wincing only slightly at the pain. His breathing was becoming more evened and relaxed as he continued talking. “Nice shot, though, for being half blind and all ‘cause I think you hit it.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, taking the bloody wads of tissues from Dean and handing him a strip of butterfly bandages to seal the wounds closed. They sat in silence until Sam leaned across the bed where he noticed splashes of the creature’s blood on the beige colored sheets. Intermingled with the darkening crimson spots, there appeared to be several flecks of skin. “What the hell?” Sam whispered as he picked up the pieces and brought them closer to the bedside lamp.
The pieces were scale like in texture, approximately as big as some of the guitar picks Sam had seen in college. Under the bright illumination, they caught the light and threw it against the walls with their green tones. Rubbing the pad of his thumb over one of the scales to wipe away the blood, Sam felt the silken texture of the offset shaped triangle.
“Looks like snake scales,” Sam commented.
“That wasn’t any damn snake jumping on my chest, though,” Dean replied. “Snakes don’t have legs, college boy. Think bigger. Reptile, yes, but we’re talkin’ big.” He took the scale from Sam, and his eyes abruptly grew wide as if he had just touched a hot stove. Immediately, his mouth began to twist in the formation of a scream while his hands trembled violently. Frantically, Sam clutched Dean’s wrist and pried the scale from his brother’s fingers.
“Dean?” When there was no response, Sam raised his voice, “Dean!”
Dean gave a jerked motion of his limbs, as if he was awakening from a different state of consciousness. He blinked rapidly, allowing his eyes to skitter over the walls before resting back on Sam. “Yeah? What?”
“You okay? You kinda went out of it there.”
“Fine, just…twisted funny. The bite marks hurt really bad.”
“You’re such a liar.”
Dean shook his head, struggling to clear it before glancing back at Sam who looked at him through large, brown eyes, pinched around the edges in worry. Even if Sam did suspect that something was amiss, Dean could never admit to it. Sam must always be kept safe, no matter what would happen to Dean. “You’ll never prove it, though.”
Sam gave an exasperated sigh of defeat and decided to change the subject. “How big?”
“What?”
“The creature. How big was it?”
Dean shrugged and looked back at the shallow teeth marks where the white butterfly bandages kissed his tanned skin. “Probably ‘bout your height, heavier though.”
“Over two hundred pounds?”
“Maybe. I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t up for taking stats when it had its jaw in my chest.”
Sam waited a beat before speaking again. “I take it we’ve got some research to do, then.”
Dean looked up from his chest, refusing to acknowledge how close he had come to tasting death yet again. Briefly, he thought of what he had experienced when he touched his mutant attacker’s scale and how his entire world had turned upside down during that moment. Instead of dwelling on such negativities, he forced a smile for Sam’s sake and slapped his younger brother on the knee, while he rose to his feet. “That we do, Sammy. Time to get back to business.”
Chapter Four