Hunter Rising 11/? (R) Dean, Sam, OC
Title: Hunter of the Shadows Book 2: Hunter Rising
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Now…
The camera's at a slightly different angle than before. Perhaps someone's knocked against it at some point, but there's Dean, sitting side on and holding a mug, with a just a glimpse of the young patient next to him.
"I know what you're thinking," says Dean right before taking a swig from his steaming mug. He settles it back on the night stand. "But no, this ain't the result of that night."
He glances at Sam on the bed. "This came from something far worse, and far more lethal..."
Whilst Dean's talking quietly, the camera picks up movement from the bed, as though someone is stirring.
"Dean, you there?" a shaky voice calls out.
Dean leans over his son, smile a little wobbly but hopeful. "Heya Sammy. Can you see anything yet?
Sam lets loose a small heartbroken sob. "N-no. Nothing. Not even shadows."
"Shhhh, I know you're scared, Sam," Dean croons softly. "But it's not been long since it happened. You just need more time…"
Tobius chooses that very moment to enter the room from outside, and he pauses, a small worried frown on his face when he hears what Dean's saying. The watcher soon realizes that the words ring a little flat, as though Dean doesn't truly believe them, and judging by the look on his face, the pack alpha is singing from the same hymn sheet.
Dean glances up and catches his Sire's eye. There's a silent communication of some kind going on.
"Tobius?" Sam calls out suddenly, maybe sensing the tension in the atmosphere. "Dean?" He's gasping in panic and reaching out with a hand, fumbling desperately for some kind of physical contact. "The blindness… it's permanent, isn't it. You just can't bring yourselves to tell me the truth."
Dean immediately grabs up his flailing hand and holds it to his chest.
"We don't know any such thing," he whispers fiercely, nostrils flaring. "You just gotta give it time."
Tobius moves closer to the bed, and places a hand over Sam's eyes without touching him, watching carefully. Sam doesn't even flinch. The ancient werewolf pinches the bridge of his nose for a long moment, then gazes down at his small family.
"We'll figure it out, pup," he says, quietly, sounding much more confident than he actually looks. "Just relax and rest up for now. Leave all the thinking and worrying to us."
He nods to Dean who immediately picks up a small glass phial of clear liquid from the nightstand, along with a hypodermic needle. He hands it over to his Sire and watches, sadly, as the needle is gently inserted into Sam's IV port.
The kid instantly relaxes but Dean tightens his grip on the limp hand.
"Wish we didn't have to do that," he says, regretfully.
"I don't like it either," Tobius replies, kindly. "But the last thing Sam needs is a panic attack - his body is much too fragile right now. When he's stronger, we'll let him deal with this naturally. But in the meantime, try not to worry. I'll make sure he's awake for meals."
Even though Dean nods in agreement, Tobius must sense his turmoil. He steps out of shot. There comes the sound of a cork being removed from a bottle, the clink of glass on glass, followed by a steady glug-glug noise.
A large glass tumbler of dark amber liquid is placed in Dean's hand seconds later.
"Here," Tobius wraps Dean's fingers around it, and sits on the floor beside him, back against the bed, his own tumbler clutched in one hand. "On with the next video entry, my son," Tobius orders, gently but firmly. "It's nice to have stories told to me for a change, and besides, Sam might appreciate it one day…"
Then…
We laid him out on the back seat, and whilst Andy and I got Sam as comfortable as possible, Tobius set about rigging up some overhead lighting using an emergency strip lamp from the trunk.
"Ok… Sutures… check. Denatured ethanol… check… biodegradable Glue… check…" Andy muttered, but Tobius and I stilled our movements when we heard that last one.
"Glue?" I murmured, curious, and at the same time a little freaked out. "What you want that for?"
Andy looked shifty. "Uh… we'll need it to stick Sam's guts back in place…"
Silence.
Andy began to wilt under the weight of our stares.
"It's tried and tested," he stated.
More silence.
"Seriously, dudes! Can't just stitch him up and have his insides sliding about all over! It'll hurt him!" he tapped me on the forehead, shocking the hell out of me with his boldness. "How did you think we were gonna do it? Cement?"
Honestly, it hadn't occurred to me. I figured we'd just sew up the hole and the kid would heal just fine. Which he would, but at least with Andy's method Sam wouldn't suffer so badly… perhaps… maybe… can't say I had all that much faith, but there was little else we could do and it had to be worth a shot.
I nodded wearily. "Ok, go ahead."
Sire raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I figured several hundred years ago a werewolf with a gut injury probably just crawled into cave to hide out for a few days until the wound healed, then just got on with the rest of the hunt. But we didn't have that kind of luxury; no crawling, and no hiding out for us.
"You guys had best be prepared to hold him down," Andy replied. "This is gonna get rough."
And he wasn't wrong.
Ordinarily, I would have insisted on doing this myself, or Sire, but Andy seemed to know what he was doing and, besides, Sire and I had our hands full keeping Sam still. He's strong as a bull elephant, even when injured, and with no pain meds there was a chance he could turn lethal on a little guy like Andy.
This wasn't the first time any of us had either tended to or witnessed field surgery in our pack, but it was by far the most horrendous and gruelling. A close second had to be a silver grapping hook, shot out of an adapted harpoon gun, becoming embedded in Sam's gut. Most of the night Tobius was busy removing silver shards as quickly as he could before silver poisoning had a chance to set in; it was scary stuff and had to be painful. But, back then, Tobius had taken pity and given Sam some gaseous pain meds and wolfs bane.
But there was no silver involved here, and no such luxuries this time. Sam writhed in agony, teeth biting down on his bottom lip so hard he drew blood. Sire grabbed Sam's leather belt, pulled it through his jean loops in one hard yank, and ordered the kid to open his mouth.
Sam obeyed without question. The leather took the punishment from then onwards and it was just as well, 'cos once Andy finished flushing the mud out of Sam's guts and washing them in the ethanol, then came the most painful part.
It meant pushing his intestines back inside, coil by coil, gradually gluing each length back in place whilst making sure there were no kinks in the tubing.
I didn't care when I tasted salt water on my tongue, or when Sam's keening grew so loud my heart began a triple beat, knocking painfully against my ribs.
But I was beginning to cave.
Sire, what about pain meds? I brought it up at last, already knowing the answer.
It'd never work in time to be of any use to him, Dean, and then it will just mess him up, and all for nothing. I'm sorry, my son, but he has to deal with this without outside help. He'll be all the stronger for it, I assure you...
Sam's misery, and ours by proxy, continued on. Hours drifted by, and the rain never let up once, endlessly drumming on the roof of the car in a weird but consistent rhythm that, by the time Andy got to the stitching stage and Sam had quietened down, sent me into a doze. Guess I hadn't realized just how tired I was.
I startled awake with a shaft of deep, painful guilt ripping though me, when I realized that dawn was trying to establish itself by fighting through the thick layers of grey clouds above. Sick, weak light crept in through the windows of the Impala, revealing Sire sprawled behind the wheel, head resting over the seat back, Andy in the front passenger seat in a similar position, and both sound asleep.
Yeah, it'd been one hell of a long night.
As for me, I was crouched in the rear passenger foot well, scrunched up like a damn pretzel and wrapped in a warm blanket. A quick glance up at Sam's face showed him sleeping just as peacefully as the other two, and I sighed tiredly. Could've used a few more hours, but I needed to check up on Sam first.
It was a testament to just how out of it I must've been: someone had kindly dressed us both in dry sweats during the night, though Sammy wasn't wearing a shirt. He didn't really need to given the mass of bandages wound round his torso.
My hand on his forehead, checking for a fever which thankfully wasn't there, elicited no more than a small frown from the kid, then his wrinkled brow smoothed out, and sleep, momentarily suspended, resumed its task of healing.
He seemed so untroubled in sleep, almost nothing like the fierce young warrior who'd faced down a powerful psychic kid and a demon the night before.
There came the creak of leather and a soft rustle of fabric from up front.
"How's he doing?" Andy spoke softly, voice a little hoarse from sleep. He'd turned around and was kneeling on the seat, arms crossed over the seat back.
"Ok, I guess," I whispered back. "Thanks to you."
"Was nothin'." Andy dismissed my thanks with a shrug.
"Ya know, you did good back there," I added after a thought, realizing I had some more thanking to do. "In the ditch, I mean. That was some quick thinking with the iron crow bar. TK, I assume?"
"Uhuh," Andy nodded, sleepily, eyelids at half mast. "Sam once told me that iron can hinder non-corporeal demons."
That surprised me. Sam and Andy obviously had a conversation about demons at some point, presumably when Sam first went after him and his twin brother. There must have been a lot these two had shared with each other in such a short space of time, but I couldn't bring myself to feel jealous. I mean, I'm Sam's brother, father and best friend. I have the best of all worlds. What did it matter if Sammy had another close friend, one that could understand more of what he was going through right now than I ever could?
"Ya know, killing Ava wasn't actually on my agenda, she was just there. Wrong place, wrong time," said Andy, suddenly looking sad and ashamed. "But seeing as she was going to kill us, I'm struggling to feel too much guilt." He turned his face to gaze at me with a sad smile. "I'm guessing Sam wouldn't see it that way, though."
I studied him closely, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the pale skin. Sooner we got him to Gerald and Josey the better.
"No. You're right, he wouldn't."
If Sam had been the one to kill Ava, by accident or otherwise, then the previous months and months of insomnia, and the running off on his own, the guilt… it would all pale in comparison. Because Sam had been trying to talk Ava round.
"You don't belong to me or anybody! For God's sake, Ava, think about this! You're not someone's slave to give away as they see fit. You can be free. You just have to make a choice."
Yeah, the choice that Andy made.
"Thank you again, Andy," I ruffled his hair affectionately, like I do with Sammy sometimes. "For being Sam's friend… our friend."
Andy snorted softly, but looked happy all the same. "Well, I figure if you're a short ass like me, might as well be friends with a pack of non-lunars, huh? No one's gonna mess with me now."
I laughed at that. But then a thought occurred to me.
"Hey, Andy?"
"Yeah!"
"Where'd ya learn how to…" I gestured to Sam's bandaged stomach. "Ya know… with the glue and stuff."
Back came that shifty look again.
"Uh, well," Andy scratched nervously at the back of his head. "I didn't learn as such."
I stared at him, not sure I wanted to hear this, but raised my eyebrows anyhow.
"I saw it in a film, once," he mumbled, but I caught it alright!
"You saw it…" I licked my lips and took a calming breath. "What film?"
"Dog Soldiers," Andy grinned. "Horror genre. One of the main characters is gutted, and the field treatment involves gluing his intestines back in place."
"Never heard of it," I replied caught half way between annoyance and fascination. It was hard to get outright angry at the kid, 'cos fiction or no fiction, it definitely seemed to have made Sam a little more comfortable sooner than I would have guessed.
"Aw man, you should see that movie," Andy nodded excitedly. "You'd love it!"
My curiosity won out. I can never resist a good horror flick. "What's it about?"
"Werewolves… sort of lunar-dependent, I think," Andy replied. "It's set in the Scottish Highlands during a British Army training exercise…" he waggled his eyebrows mysteriously, and lowered his voice. "…and all goes awry!"
"Flying cows," a tired voice spoke right by my ear.
"Huh? Sammy, you awake?"
"Yeah."
"How dya feel?" I groaned and stretched, pushed up and sat on the edge of the seat, gazing down at Sam.
Sammy smiled weakly. "Sore, tired, but otherwise ok. You… g-guys?"
I understood his question. He was already falling back under, even after having only just woken up, but he would fight it until he knew we were all safe.
"We're fine, Sam." Smiling back at him, I brushed a few renegade locks of hair from his eyes. "Don't you worry 'bout us. Sleep if you need to."
That was all it took before Sam drifted off into a pain free sleep.
It seemed to be his favourite pass time of late: various states of unconsciousness.
I turned back to Andy with what must have been a puzzled frown. "Flying cows?"
Andy shrugged. "Clearly Sam's seen the film."
I just stared at him for the length of a heartbeat. "You're weird! Ya know that?"
Whilst the rain held off, Sire felt it would be prudent to take advantage of the break in the weather. After what had transpired with Ava, we had some serious strategizing to do.
First order of the day was to dispose of the body, which proved more of a challenge than we would have thought possible. Tiny she may have been, but she sure sucked up water like a sponge. A salt and burn was out of the question, and after much deliberating, and some scratching of heads, it was decided to bury her as far from the road as possible. We didn't even entertain the idea of dumping her in the trunk. After all, what would we do with her after that? Take her to a motel, stick her in front of a hair dryer on full blast, and hope she dried out before she began stinking the place up?
But that wasn't the only problem we faced. Or, should I say, Tobius faced. I stayed behind to keep an eye on Sam whilst Andy accompanied Sire out on their short funereal expedition to bury Ava.
The whole area had become a veritable swamp from the rainfall. This meant we ran the risk of the body being carried down into the nearby rivers and estuaries and, God forbid, discovered should there ever be a mud slide.
Sam was sitting up in the rear seat, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, and wide awake by the time they made it back.
I'd just finished checking his wound over. It was healing nicely, though Sire and Andy's untimely arrival was about to compromise it.
Sam was feeling understandably down in the dumps after Ava's ambush and subsequent death. It was the usual spiel, Sammy angsting and guilting himself into depression over something that was beyond his control, to the tune of my reassurances and support, trying my damndest to pull him back out.
After finally getting a feeble laugh out of the kid when I explained how Andy felt about all this, Sam turned his head slightly to gaze out the passenger window, and his eyes widened.
"Uh, Dean?" he nudged me with an elbow. "I think you should see this."
And boy did I!
On the other side of the ditch, the place of Ava's last stand, two mud monsters trudged side by side along the edge. The taller one, obviously Tobius, loped along with his usual natural grace only slightly hindered by the cloying mud. The shorter one, however, appeared to be in shock and occasionally stumbled over his own mud encrusted feet. Sire reached out and caught his arm to steady him from time to time, and Andy, in a kind of daze, just dumbly nodded his thanks. But one thing was evident: neither man was talking.
They slipped and slid down the ditch wall, only just managing to stay on their feet, splashed across the muddy stream, and disappeared from view. A minute or so later, two pairs of muddy hands snaked their way over the top of the opposite ditch wall, two sets of mud framed eyes appeared right after, and with a great deal of straining - and I'm pretty sure there were a few curses thrown in for good measure - the two mud monsters hauled themselves up and over the edge.
They just stood there, staring at us. Then a muffled sounding Tobius called out, spraying mud everywhere with each syllable.
"Ifff fyou ffwouldn't fmind fpassing usfa ftowel? Spluffffle!"
We couldn't help it, and just stared back.
I blinked.
Sam's eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead and he shuddered from the effort of holding in his laughter. That had to hurt.
Tobius shifted, wiped a hand down his face, flicked some dark mud aside, and glared fiercely. "I say, boys? Show's over!" he paused to take a breath. "Now get us a damn towel!"
I jumped to it, leapt out the car and rummaged around in the boot. Just about to hand over a couple of fluffy towels, at the last moment I wrenched them back out of reach, eyes narrowed.
"Uh-uh," I shook my head. "You better get washed off in that stream first," wrinkling my nose in disgust, I added. "No one steps foot in my baby until every scrap of mud goes!"
Tobius' mouth fell open in shock and I heard Sam stifle a snort. "What?"
"You heard me!" I insisted, now feeling well deserving of some kind of medal for bravery. Sire's eyes glowed and his muscles tensed up, or at least from what I could see under all that mud.
We were at an impasse.
It was alpha versus beta in a duel over the Impala's honour, and I wasn't backing down.
Andy watched on with wide, fearful eyes, probably wondering if he was about to witness another fight to the death. And that's because he still didn't know all that much about Sire's sense of humour.
A deep rumble rolled forth from Sire's mouth, and then lightened up a little until it became apparent he was full on laughing.
"I should know better than to challenge the virtue of The Lady," Sire offered a small bow and a smile, at the same time gallantly clicking his heels together. He turned, clapped Andy on the back, sending a shower of mud flying, incidentally nearly knocking the poor guy off his feet, and pulled him along. "Come on lad, let's get cleaned up. Muddy water is better than none at all."
Grinning from ear to ear, I slipped behind the steering wheel, switched on the engine and cranked up the heaters.
Sam shook his head, also grinning. "You do realise there'll be a price to pay for that."
Challenging the pack alpha in front of its youngest member, and a human? Oh yeah. No doubt about it. But, of course, I wasn't going to admit to that out loud. I was just way too cocky.
"Not until this is all over, Sammy," I glanced over my shoulder at him, briefly. "Up to then? I'm safe. And besides, I'm sure he'd have let it g-splurgurphle!"
My mouth and nose was suddenly filled with mud, dripping off my ears and chin, and sliding down my neck. When I managed to clear the stuff from my eyes - without getting a single speck on the car's upholstery, of course - it was to face Sire looking smugger than I'd ever seen him look before, standing outside the driver's window.
With an almost serene smile on his face, Tobius studied me with interest, head tilted to the side and arms folded across his chest.
After a while, when he was sure he had my complete attention, he nodded. "I take it my point has been made."
I held in a growl, gracious in defeat and accepting my comeuppance, and merely bowed my head with a grin.
Sire turned and headed back towards the ditch.
"You ever gonna learn Dean?" Sam murmured in amusement, shaking his head again.
I ignored the obviously rhetorical question. Sire's our alpha, but we can't resist baiting each other from time to time, especially if it gets a laugh out of Sammy.
Tobius and Andy had managed to clean off the worst in the ditch, but once they clambered back out again, there was still a fair amount of mud. It was taken care of by dipping into our bottled water supply from the trunk, followed up with the fluffy towels and some fresh clothes.
Sam glanced at Sire, eyes sad and mournful.
Tobius responded accordingly.
We gave her the proper burial rites, young pup, and God knows that she is just another victim in all this. She can rest in peace.
It seemed to pacify Sam and even made me feel better, for some reason.
It was some hours later and we were on the road again.
"We'll have to burn these at some point," Tobius said, meaningfully, indicating their ruined clothes sitting in a plastic bag in the passenger foot well.
Andy sighed, looking pale, miserable, and still more than a little shocked. "Yeah, we got quite a lot of blood on them before… before the mud." He turned his head to gaze out the window as the scenery sped by. "Can't believe all this. First I kill a girl, and then I'm burying her body out in the wilderness like some kind of tacky serial killer."
I glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "Take it easy, kid. None of this is your fault, ok?"
Sad eyes turned my way. "Doesn't make it any easier," Andy whispered back.
And what could any of us say to that? Kid was right. His life had undergone a drastic change in the last few days, and it was about to get even more weird. I could only hope he'd see that being with the werebears was a good kind of weird, for once.
Sam shuffled closer to his friend, leaning up against Andy's shoulder, offering comfort without the aid of meaningless words.
Tobius was being all thoughtful again. I could feel it, and I knew that no amount of pushing would get him to speak up before he was ready.
Fifteen miles later, as we ascended way above sea level, and the mountain roads grew steep and winding, the rain changed to sleet. A few miles after that it changed again, and snow worked its magic, turning the otherwise muddy landscape into a sparkling, white blanket.
I could feel the smile on my face. We were nearly home, just another few hundred miles or so to warmth, comfort and our friendly family of werebears.
But, as I said, Sire was being pensive, and he was about to impart his thoughts on us, whether we liked it or not.
"Stop the car," Tobius said suddenly.
"Huh?" That was the last thing I expected, but I brought the car to a gentle stop anyway. "Sire?"
"Andy," Sire turned around in his seat to regard the two youngsters. "You said the other children can track you, but not Sam."
Andy glanced at Sam nervously before answering. "Sure, y-yeah."
"Hmm," Tobius' eyes narrowed. "We can't afford to have Sam out of action again through expending all his energy on shielding us from interference."
Sam nodded tiredly. "Yeah, I don't think I have much left as it is after Ava's demon attack," he brushed hair off his forehead, and barely seem to notice when it flopped back in place over his eyes. "Sucker was strong…"
And here came the despondency. I'd spot it anywhere - it's been close friends with my son for most of his life.
"Only because you were exhausted already, Sam," I countered, determined to beat down any sense of self-doubt in the kid. "You'd been fighting off Ava's mojo, controlling the car, and trying to find her and anyone else that might have been out there."
"He's right young pup," Sire added kindly. "You weren't up to full strength." He patted the kid's knee. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
Sam merely shrugged and looked away, morosely. Kid needed a break, some kind of peace just for a little while…
"I want you to take Sam and head across the mountains for the werebears," Tobius said suddenly.
I sat bolt upright at the same time I heard Sam growl from the passenger seat behind me.
It didn't take a genius to figure out there was an argument on the rise.
Chapter Twelve
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Now…
The camera's at a slightly different angle than before. Perhaps someone's knocked against it at some point, but there's Dean, sitting side on and holding a mug, with a just a glimpse of the young patient next to him.
"I know what you're thinking," says Dean right before taking a swig from his steaming mug. He settles it back on the night stand. "But no, this ain't the result of that night."
He glances at Sam on the bed. "This came from something far worse, and far more lethal..."
Whilst Dean's talking quietly, the camera picks up movement from the bed, as though someone is stirring.
"Dean, you there?" a shaky voice calls out.
Dean leans over his son, smile a little wobbly but hopeful. "Heya Sammy. Can you see anything yet?
Sam lets loose a small heartbroken sob. "N-no. Nothing. Not even shadows."
"Shhhh, I know you're scared, Sam," Dean croons softly. "But it's not been long since it happened. You just need more time…"
Tobius chooses that very moment to enter the room from outside, and he pauses, a small worried frown on his face when he hears what Dean's saying. The watcher soon realizes that the words ring a little flat, as though Dean doesn't truly believe them, and judging by the look on his face, the pack alpha is singing from the same hymn sheet.
Dean glances up and catches his Sire's eye. There's a silent communication of some kind going on.
"Tobius?" Sam calls out suddenly, maybe sensing the tension in the atmosphere. "Dean?" He's gasping in panic and reaching out with a hand, fumbling desperately for some kind of physical contact. "The blindness… it's permanent, isn't it. You just can't bring yourselves to tell me the truth."
Dean immediately grabs up his flailing hand and holds it to his chest.
"We don't know any such thing," he whispers fiercely, nostrils flaring. "You just gotta give it time."
Tobius moves closer to the bed, and places a hand over Sam's eyes without touching him, watching carefully. Sam doesn't even flinch. The ancient werewolf pinches the bridge of his nose for a long moment, then gazes down at his small family.
"We'll figure it out, pup," he says, quietly, sounding much more confident than he actually looks. "Just relax and rest up for now. Leave all the thinking and worrying to us."
He nods to Dean who immediately picks up a small glass phial of clear liquid from the nightstand, along with a hypodermic needle. He hands it over to his Sire and watches, sadly, as the needle is gently inserted into Sam's IV port.
The kid instantly relaxes but Dean tightens his grip on the limp hand.
"Wish we didn't have to do that," he says, regretfully.
"I don't like it either," Tobius replies, kindly. "But the last thing Sam needs is a panic attack - his body is much too fragile right now. When he's stronger, we'll let him deal with this naturally. But in the meantime, try not to worry. I'll make sure he's awake for meals."
Even though Dean nods in agreement, Tobius must sense his turmoil. He steps out of shot. There comes the sound of a cork being removed from a bottle, the clink of glass on glass, followed by a steady glug-glug noise.
A large glass tumbler of dark amber liquid is placed in Dean's hand seconds later.
"Here," Tobius wraps Dean's fingers around it, and sits on the floor beside him, back against the bed, his own tumbler clutched in one hand. "On with the next video entry, my son," Tobius orders, gently but firmly. "It's nice to have stories told to me for a change, and besides, Sam might appreciate it one day…"
Then…
We laid him out on the back seat, and whilst Andy and I got Sam as comfortable as possible, Tobius set about rigging up some overhead lighting using an emergency strip lamp from the trunk.
"Ok… Sutures… check. Denatured ethanol… check… biodegradable Glue… check…" Andy muttered, but Tobius and I stilled our movements when we heard that last one.
"Glue?" I murmured, curious, and at the same time a little freaked out. "What you want that for?"
Andy looked shifty. "Uh… we'll need it to stick Sam's guts back in place…"
Silence.
Andy began to wilt under the weight of our stares.
"It's tried and tested," he stated.
More silence.
"Seriously, dudes! Can't just stitch him up and have his insides sliding about all over! It'll hurt him!" he tapped me on the forehead, shocking the hell out of me with his boldness. "How did you think we were gonna do it? Cement?"
Honestly, it hadn't occurred to me. I figured we'd just sew up the hole and the kid would heal just fine. Which he would, but at least with Andy's method Sam wouldn't suffer so badly… perhaps… maybe… can't say I had all that much faith, but there was little else we could do and it had to be worth a shot.
I nodded wearily. "Ok, go ahead."
Sire raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I figured several hundred years ago a werewolf with a gut injury probably just crawled into cave to hide out for a few days until the wound healed, then just got on with the rest of the hunt. But we didn't have that kind of luxury; no crawling, and no hiding out for us.
"You guys had best be prepared to hold him down," Andy replied. "This is gonna get rough."
And he wasn't wrong.
Ordinarily, I would have insisted on doing this myself, or Sire, but Andy seemed to know what he was doing and, besides, Sire and I had our hands full keeping Sam still. He's strong as a bull elephant, even when injured, and with no pain meds there was a chance he could turn lethal on a little guy like Andy.
This wasn't the first time any of us had either tended to or witnessed field surgery in our pack, but it was by far the most horrendous and gruelling. A close second had to be a silver grapping hook, shot out of an adapted harpoon gun, becoming embedded in Sam's gut. Most of the night Tobius was busy removing silver shards as quickly as he could before silver poisoning had a chance to set in; it was scary stuff and had to be painful. But, back then, Tobius had taken pity and given Sam some gaseous pain meds and wolfs bane.
But there was no silver involved here, and no such luxuries this time. Sam writhed in agony, teeth biting down on his bottom lip so hard he drew blood. Sire grabbed Sam's leather belt, pulled it through his jean loops in one hard yank, and ordered the kid to open his mouth.
Sam obeyed without question. The leather took the punishment from then onwards and it was just as well, 'cos once Andy finished flushing the mud out of Sam's guts and washing them in the ethanol, then came the most painful part.
It meant pushing his intestines back inside, coil by coil, gradually gluing each length back in place whilst making sure there were no kinks in the tubing.
I didn't care when I tasted salt water on my tongue, or when Sam's keening grew so loud my heart began a triple beat, knocking painfully against my ribs.
But I was beginning to cave.
Sire, what about pain meds? I brought it up at last, already knowing the answer.
It'd never work in time to be of any use to him, Dean, and then it will just mess him up, and all for nothing. I'm sorry, my son, but he has to deal with this without outside help. He'll be all the stronger for it, I assure you...
Sam's misery, and ours by proxy, continued on. Hours drifted by, and the rain never let up once, endlessly drumming on the roof of the car in a weird but consistent rhythm that, by the time Andy got to the stitching stage and Sam had quietened down, sent me into a doze. Guess I hadn't realized just how tired I was.
I startled awake with a shaft of deep, painful guilt ripping though me, when I realized that dawn was trying to establish itself by fighting through the thick layers of grey clouds above. Sick, weak light crept in through the windows of the Impala, revealing Sire sprawled behind the wheel, head resting over the seat back, Andy in the front passenger seat in a similar position, and both sound asleep.
Yeah, it'd been one hell of a long night.
As for me, I was crouched in the rear passenger foot well, scrunched up like a damn pretzel and wrapped in a warm blanket. A quick glance up at Sam's face showed him sleeping just as peacefully as the other two, and I sighed tiredly. Could've used a few more hours, but I needed to check up on Sam first.
It was a testament to just how out of it I must've been: someone had kindly dressed us both in dry sweats during the night, though Sammy wasn't wearing a shirt. He didn't really need to given the mass of bandages wound round his torso.
My hand on his forehead, checking for a fever which thankfully wasn't there, elicited no more than a small frown from the kid, then his wrinkled brow smoothed out, and sleep, momentarily suspended, resumed its task of healing.
He seemed so untroubled in sleep, almost nothing like the fierce young warrior who'd faced down a powerful psychic kid and a demon the night before.
There came the creak of leather and a soft rustle of fabric from up front.
"How's he doing?" Andy spoke softly, voice a little hoarse from sleep. He'd turned around and was kneeling on the seat, arms crossed over the seat back.
"Ok, I guess," I whispered back. "Thanks to you."
"Was nothin'." Andy dismissed my thanks with a shrug.
"Ya know, you did good back there," I added after a thought, realizing I had some more thanking to do. "In the ditch, I mean. That was some quick thinking with the iron crow bar. TK, I assume?"
"Uhuh," Andy nodded, sleepily, eyelids at half mast. "Sam once told me that iron can hinder non-corporeal demons."
That surprised me. Sam and Andy obviously had a conversation about demons at some point, presumably when Sam first went after him and his twin brother. There must have been a lot these two had shared with each other in such a short space of time, but I couldn't bring myself to feel jealous. I mean, I'm Sam's brother, father and best friend. I have the best of all worlds. What did it matter if Sammy had another close friend, one that could understand more of what he was going through right now than I ever could?
"Ya know, killing Ava wasn't actually on my agenda, she was just there. Wrong place, wrong time," said Andy, suddenly looking sad and ashamed. "But seeing as she was going to kill us, I'm struggling to feel too much guilt." He turned his face to gaze at me with a sad smile. "I'm guessing Sam wouldn't see it that way, though."
I studied him closely, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the pale skin. Sooner we got him to Gerald and Josey the better.
"No. You're right, he wouldn't."
If Sam had been the one to kill Ava, by accident or otherwise, then the previous months and months of insomnia, and the running off on his own, the guilt… it would all pale in comparison. Because Sam had been trying to talk Ava round.
"You don't belong to me or anybody! For God's sake, Ava, think about this! You're not someone's slave to give away as they see fit. You can be free. You just have to make a choice."
Yeah, the choice that Andy made.
"Thank you again, Andy," I ruffled his hair affectionately, like I do with Sammy sometimes. "For being Sam's friend… our friend."
Andy snorted softly, but looked happy all the same. "Well, I figure if you're a short ass like me, might as well be friends with a pack of non-lunars, huh? No one's gonna mess with me now."
I laughed at that. But then a thought occurred to me.
"Hey, Andy?"
"Yeah!"
"Where'd ya learn how to…" I gestured to Sam's bandaged stomach. "Ya know… with the glue and stuff."
Back came that shifty look again.
"Uh, well," Andy scratched nervously at the back of his head. "I didn't learn as such."
I stared at him, not sure I wanted to hear this, but raised my eyebrows anyhow.
"I saw it in a film, once," he mumbled, but I caught it alright!
"You saw it…" I licked my lips and took a calming breath. "What film?"
"Dog Soldiers," Andy grinned. "Horror genre. One of the main characters is gutted, and the field treatment involves gluing his intestines back in place."
"Never heard of it," I replied caught half way between annoyance and fascination. It was hard to get outright angry at the kid, 'cos fiction or no fiction, it definitely seemed to have made Sam a little more comfortable sooner than I would have guessed.
"Aw man, you should see that movie," Andy nodded excitedly. "You'd love it!"
My curiosity won out. I can never resist a good horror flick. "What's it about?"
"Werewolves… sort of lunar-dependent, I think," Andy replied. "It's set in the Scottish Highlands during a British Army training exercise…" he waggled his eyebrows mysteriously, and lowered his voice. "…and all goes awry!"
"Flying cows," a tired voice spoke right by my ear.
"Huh? Sammy, you awake?"
"Yeah."
"How dya feel?" I groaned and stretched, pushed up and sat on the edge of the seat, gazing down at Sam.
Sammy smiled weakly. "Sore, tired, but otherwise ok. You… g-guys?"
I understood his question. He was already falling back under, even after having only just woken up, but he would fight it until he knew we were all safe.
"We're fine, Sam." Smiling back at him, I brushed a few renegade locks of hair from his eyes. "Don't you worry 'bout us. Sleep if you need to."
That was all it took before Sam drifted off into a pain free sleep.
It seemed to be his favourite pass time of late: various states of unconsciousness.
I turned back to Andy with what must have been a puzzled frown. "Flying cows?"
Andy shrugged. "Clearly Sam's seen the film."
I just stared at him for the length of a heartbeat. "You're weird! Ya know that?"
Whilst the rain held off, Sire felt it would be prudent to take advantage of the break in the weather. After what had transpired with Ava, we had some serious strategizing to do.
First order of the day was to dispose of the body, which proved more of a challenge than we would have thought possible. Tiny she may have been, but she sure sucked up water like a sponge. A salt and burn was out of the question, and after much deliberating, and some scratching of heads, it was decided to bury her as far from the road as possible. We didn't even entertain the idea of dumping her in the trunk. After all, what would we do with her after that? Take her to a motel, stick her in front of a hair dryer on full blast, and hope she dried out before she began stinking the place up?
But that wasn't the only problem we faced. Or, should I say, Tobius faced. I stayed behind to keep an eye on Sam whilst Andy accompanied Sire out on their short funereal expedition to bury Ava.
The whole area had become a veritable swamp from the rainfall. This meant we ran the risk of the body being carried down into the nearby rivers and estuaries and, God forbid, discovered should there ever be a mud slide.
Sam was sitting up in the rear seat, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, and wide awake by the time they made it back.
I'd just finished checking his wound over. It was healing nicely, though Sire and Andy's untimely arrival was about to compromise it.
Sam was feeling understandably down in the dumps after Ava's ambush and subsequent death. It was the usual spiel, Sammy angsting and guilting himself into depression over something that was beyond his control, to the tune of my reassurances and support, trying my damndest to pull him back out.
After finally getting a feeble laugh out of the kid when I explained how Andy felt about all this, Sam turned his head slightly to gaze out the passenger window, and his eyes widened.
"Uh, Dean?" he nudged me with an elbow. "I think you should see this."
And boy did I!
On the other side of the ditch, the place of Ava's last stand, two mud monsters trudged side by side along the edge. The taller one, obviously Tobius, loped along with his usual natural grace only slightly hindered by the cloying mud. The shorter one, however, appeared to be in shock and occasionally stumbled over his own mud encrusted feet. Sire reached out and caught his arm to steady him from time to time, and Andy, in a kind of daze, just dumbly nodded his thanks. But one thing was evident: neither man was talking.
They slipped and slid down the ditch wall, only just managing to stay on their feet, splashed across the muddy stream, and disappeared from view. A minute or so later, two pairs of muddy hands snaked their way over the top of the opposite ditch wall, two sets of mud framed eyes appeared right after, and with a great deal of straining - and I'm pretty sure there were a few curses thrown in for good measure - the two mud monsters hauled themselves up and over the edge.
They just stood there, staring at us. Then a muffled sounding Tobius called out, spraying mud everywhere with each syllable.
"Ifff fyou ffwouldn't fmind fpassing usfa ftowel? Spluffffle!"
We couldn't help it, and just stared back.
I blinked.
Sam's eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead and he shuddered from the effort of holding in his laughter. That had to hurt.
Tobius shifted, wiped a hand down his face, flicked some dark mud aside, and glared fiercely. "I say, boys? Show's over!" he paused to take a breath. "Now get us a damn towel!"
I jumped to it, leapt out the car and rummaged around in the boot. Just about to hand over a couple of fluffy towels, at the last moment I wrenched them back out of reach, eyes narrowed.
"Uh-uh," I shook my head. "You better get washed off in that stream first," wrinkling my nose in disgust, I added. "No one steps foot in my baby until every scrap of mud goes!"
Tobius' mouth fell open in shock and I heard Sam stifle a snort. "What?"
"You heard me!" I insisted, now feeling well deserving of some kind of medal for bravery. Sire's eyes glowed and his muscles tensed up, or at least from what I could see under all that mud.
We were at an impasse.
It was alpha versus beta in a duel over the Impala's honour, and I wasn't backing down.
Andy watched on with wide, fearful eyes, probably wondering if he was about to witness another fight to the death. And that's because he still didn't know all that much about Sire's sense of humour.
A deep rumble rolled forth from Sire's mouth, and then lightened up a little until it became apparent he was full on laughing.
"I should know better than to challenge the virtue of The Lady," Sire offered a small bow and a smile, at the same time gallantly clicking his heels together. He turned, clapped Andy on the back, sending a shower of mud flying, incidentally nearly knocking the poor guy off his feet, and pulled him along. "Come on lad, let's get cleaned up. Muddy water is better than none at all."
Grinning from ear to ear, I slipped behind the steering wheel, switched on the engine and cranked up the heaters.
Sam shook his head, also grinning. "You do realise there'll be a price to pay for that."
Challenging the pack alpha in front of its youngest member, and a human? Oh yeah. No doubt about it. But, of course, I wasn't going to admit to that out loud. I was just way too cocky.
"Not until this is all over, Sammy," I glanced over my shoulder at him, briefly. "Up to then? I'm safe. And besides, I'm sure he'd have let it g-splurgurphle!"
My mouth and nose was suddenly filled with mud, dripping off my ears and chin, and sliding down my neck. When I managed to clear the stuff from my eyes - without getting a single speck on the car's upholstery, of course - it was to face Sire looking smugger than I'd ever seen him look before, standing outside the driver's window.
With an almost serene smile on his face, Tobius studied me with interest, head tilted to the side and arms folded across his chest.
After a while, when he was sure he had my complete attention, he nodded. "I take it my point has been made."
I held in a growl, gracious in defeat and accepting my comeuppance, and merely bowed my head with a grin.
Sire turned and headed back towards the ditch.
"You ever gonna learn Dean?" Sam murmured in amusement, shaking his head again.
I ignored the obviously rhetorical question. Sire's our alpha, but we can't resist baiting each other from time to time, especially if it gets a laugh out of Sammy.
Tobius and Andy had managed to clean off the worst in the ditch, but once they clambered back out again, there was still a fair amount of mud. It was taken care of by dipping into our bottled water supply from the trunk, followed up with the fluffy towels and some fresh clothes.
Sam glanced at Sire, eyes sad and mournful.
Tobius responded accordingly.
We gave her the proper burial rites, young pup, and God knows that she is just another victim in all this. She can rest in peace.
It seemed to pacify Sam and even made me feel better, for some reason.
It was some hours later and we were on the road again.
"We'll have to burn these at some point," Tobius said, meaningfully, indicating their ruined clothes sitting in a plastic bag in the passenger foot well.
Andy sighed, looking pale, miserable, and still more than a little shocked. "Yeah, we got quite a lot of blood on them before… before the mud." He turned his head to gaze out the window as the scenery sped by. "Can't believe all this. First I kill a girl, and then I'm burying her body out in the wilderness like some kind of tacky serial killer."
I glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "Take it easy, kid. None of this is your fault, ok?"
Sad eyes turned my way. "Doesn't make it any easier," Andy whispered back.
And what could any of us say to that? Kid was right. His life had undergone a drastic change in the last few days, and it was about to get even more weird. I could only hope he'd see that being with the werebears was a good kind of weird, for once.
Sam shuffled closer to his friend, leaning up against Andy's shoulder, offering comfort without the aid of meaningless words.
Tobius was being all thoughtful again. I could feel it, and I knew that no amount of pushing would get him to speak up before he was ready.
Fifteen miles later, as we ascended way above sea level, and the mountain roads grew steep and winding, the rain changed to sleet. A few miles after that it changed again, and snow worked its magic, turning the otherwise muddy landscape into a sparkling, white blanket.
I could feel the smile on my face. We were nearly home, just another few hundred miles or so to warmth, comfort and our friendly family of werebears.
But, as I said, Sire was being pensive, and he was about to impart his thoughts on us, whether we liked it or not.
"Stop the car," Tobius said suddenly.
"Huh?" That was the last thing I expected, but I brought the car to a gentle stop anyway. "Sire?"
"Andy," Sire turned around in his seat to regard the two youngsters. "You said the other children can track you, but not Sam."
Andy glanced at Sam nervously before answering. "Sure, y-yeah."
"Hmm," Tobius' eyes narrowed. "We can't afford to have Sam out of action again through expending all his energy on shielding us from interference."
Sam nodded tiredly. "Yeah, I don't think I have much left as it is after Ava's demon attack," he brushed hair off his forehead, and barely seem to notice when it flopped back in place over his eyes. "Sucker was strong…"
And here came the despondency. I'd spot it anywhere - it's been close friends with my son for most of his life.
"Only because you were exhausted already, Sam," I countered, determined to beat down any sense of self-doubt in the kid. "You'd been fighting off Ava's mojo, controlling the car, and trying to find her and anyone else that might have been out there."
"He's right young pup," Sire added kindly. "You weren't up to full strength." He patted the kid's knee. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
Sam merely shrugged and looked away, morosely. Kid needed a break, some kind of peace just for a little while…
"I want you to take Sam and head across the mountains for the werebears," Tobius said suddenly.
I sat bolt upright at the same time I heard Sam growl from the passenger seat behind me.
It didn't take a genius to figure out there was an argument on the rise.
Chapter Twelve