Calver Ridge Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Glancing at his watch, Sam saw that he still had a few hours to kill before his Dad arrived in town. Once again, he’d risen early and gone for a walk in the park. It had been busier than usual and he’d made a mental note to ask Dean if there was anywhere in town that stayed quiet on a Friday. Sighing, he looked around the lobby of the hotel where he and his friends were staying and quickly realized that all of them were still in bed or up in their rooms nursing hangovers. Again. He shook his head and walked back outside towards the Impala. It had been a while since he’d filled her up with gas, and his Dad wouldn’t be happy if he found her with an almost empty tank.
He’d never had the fascination with cars that his Dad possessed, never had the urge to listen to an engine that Dean seemed to feel constantly, but he could appreciate that the Impala was a good car. Driving along the streets of a strange town, Sam felt safe.
He turned onto a more familiar street and automatically slowed down, looking out for Dean. It had been a few days since their last date and he’d missed seeing him; talking on the phone was good but it wasn’t good enough. As he reached Dean’s house, he slowed to a stop and grinned at the sight that greeted him.
Shirt off and tucked into the top of his blue jeans, Dean was mowing the lawn. Sam leaned against the Impala, unnoticed, and watched him work. When Dean came close to finishing his task, Sam crossed over to the porch, waving at Dean as we went, and grabbed two sodas from the cooler that had been left there.
Dean took the drink gratefully, swallowing down half of the contents before sitting himself down next to Sam.
“What are you doing here?”
“The Impala needed filling up. Your parents about?”
Dean shook his head, “They’ve gone away again for a few days, took Mikey with them.”
“So, you’ve got the house to yourself, free time on your hands and you choose to mow the lawn?” He smirked, grunting as Dean’s elbow hit him in the stomach.
“When’s your Dad getting here?”
“I don’t know - sometime today. I’ll bring him into the bar.”
“Can you text me or something when you’re outside, or leaving, or something? Just so I know you’re on your way with him.”
He threw an arm around Dean’s shoulders and squeezed gently, “You’re nervous.”
“I’m not.”
“It’s okay, I’m glad you’re nervous. It means you care.”
“Sam, I’m not nervous.”
“So you keep saying. Can we go inside, or am I not allowed?”
Dean pushed himself up off the porch and pulled the door open. “Come on in, then.”
John Winchester shook his head as the car spluttered to a halt at the edge of the road. It was a model that he would have never have chosen for himself but it had been the easiest that he could find to steal; now he knew why. Useless piece of junk.
He missed the Impala; her reliability, her feeling of home. That had been why he’d lent her to Sammy, because she was reliable - there was no chance of her breaking down while Sam was in a strange place. He couldn’t bring himself to give her to Sam properly and find another car for himself. The Impala had always been meant for Dean, for his first-born.
Muttering about the state of modern cars, he grabbed the two duffels from the back seat and then emptied the glove box, shoving fake IDs and well-used road maps into one of them. He climbed out of the car and glanced up at the sky, cursing when he saw the dark rainclouds overhead. After one last check of the car he set off, walking along the dusty road with the ease of a man used to hiking.
The first drops of rain began to fall after John had been walking for about a mile; resigning himself to a hard slog, he pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself and began to scan the horizon for any signs of civilization. Well-trained eyes took in the lack of road signs and he realized that he was still a way away from shelter. To the left of the road was a forest that was well frequented by hikers and hunters, although not the type of hunter that John was used to. Taking a chance, he turned and headed into the dense mass of trees in search of a hunter’s cabin. It was better than risking hypothermia by staying out in the rain.
As he pushed aside branch after branch and stepped over thick roots John wondered whether Sam would get worried when he didn’t show up. Probably, but it wasn’t as if he could do anything about that now; there was no cell signal out here and he wouldn’t be able to reach a phone until the rain had stopped and he could head for the nearest town.
Maybe Sam wouldn’t be too worried; after all, his son was used to life on the road and knew that things like this sometimes happened. Besides, there was a chance that he’d be too distracted by his new fling to even notice. He’d been full of talk about the boy during their last conversation. John snorted. He was just kidding himself; Sam had always been a worrier and John knew that he only had himself to blame. After losing Dean, and then Mary, he had been fiercely protective of his youngest son. But then, who would blame him for that?
He forced his way through another patch of tangled branches and pulled his duffels through behind him. The rain was getting heavier now, lashing down with vengeance in mind, but it didn’t matter because he’d somehow managed to stumble upon a cabin. He crossed over to it and tried the door, frowning when it swung open easily. He shook the uneasy feeling away; plenty of the normal types of hunters were careless, unaware of the real dangers that were out there. Still, he drew his gun and took the safety off before entering.
The cabin was empty but that didn’t soothe John’s hunter instincts at all. He dropped his duffels on the floor and pulled his lighter out of his jacket pocket. As it lit up the room, John’s grip on his gun tightened. The cabin had been well and truly trashed; chairs lay in bits on the floor, papers were strewn all over the table and a mattress had been slashed open and tossed aside. John’s keen eyes did not miss the smears of fresh blood on the once-white sheets. He found an old gas light and lit it, hoping that it would hold out until the rain had stopped. After holstering his gun he pulled a container of salt out of one of the duffels and secured the cabin the best he could before settling down on the only chair that was still in once piece, trying to relax. It didn’t last long.
At the edge of the table were a set of clear markings where some claws had gouged deep into the wood. John once again took out his gun as he tried to identify the markings; the thing that had been in the cabin was much, much more dangerous than a bear.
Sam watched fondly as Dean padded barefoot across the room, a newly delivered pizza box in his hands. Karl had called earlier to give Dean the night off and they’d decided to take advantage of the empty house. ‘The Shining’ was already in the machine, and he reached forward and set it away as Dean got himself comfortable again. Taking a bite of pepperoni pizza, Sam smiled as Dean twisted around and tucked his toes beneath Sam’s legs.
“Comfortable?”
“Mmhmm.” Dean confirmed this around a mouthful of food and then grinned unashamedly at him, “Very.”
He took a quick look at his cell before focusing his attention back on the movie; his Dad hadn’t called yet, but he had said that it might be late evening by the time that he arrived, so Sam wasn’t worried quite yet.
“Hey.” Dean wiggled his toes.
“What?”
“Can we go for a drive later? In the Impala. You know, before your Dad gets here.”
Sam laughed and pulled one of Dean’s feet out from under his leg. He ran a finger down the sole of the foot, causing Dean to kick out, and then rested his warm hand on top of it.
“Yeah, Dean, we can. If you want to.”
Dean smiled, pushed his other foot further under Sam and settled back to watch Sam watch the movie.
The pages of his journal were well worn and familiar as John thumbed through it. Throughout the book, creature after creature was documented in his untidy scrawl and he was anxious to find the entry that he was searching for. The claw marks on the table seemed familiar to him and he had a horrible feeling that he knew which creature was out there. The Wendigo.
He’d only ever encountered one once before, back when he was still new to hunting, when he’d still been reliant on Bobby for help and Jim to look after Sammy. He found the page that he was looking for and sucked in a breath; Wendigos were nasty things and, unprepared and alone, this one would be a tough kill. At least the salt would keep it away for a while. Thunder rumbled in the distance and John cursed his bad luck at being stuck in a cabin surrounded by trees and a killer during a storm.
As he went to close the journal a photo fell out and he picked it up, thumb moving gently over the people in the picture. It was the only one he had left of Mary, of Dean. He allowed himself a few moments of sentimentality before placing the photo back in it’s place and closing the book. Standing up, he grabbed his duffel and began to go through the contents; he would need all of the lighters and aerosols that he could find.
After pulling all that he could out of the duffels he began to search the room for anything that might be of use. It felt wrong going through another man’s belongings, but it was part of the job, something that he had grown used to over the years. He wondered whether the people who owned his place of shelter were still alive and vowed that, if they were, he would save them.
The remote was just out of reach as Sam tried to grab it without disturbing Dean, who had fallen asleep after twenty minutes of the movie. Sighing, he sat back and resigned himself to watching the credits roll. Dean shifted slightly and Sam’s attention focused on him once again; he looked younger when he was asleep. Sam wondered whether he himself had ever looked so carefree and pushed the resulting pang of jealousy away. It wasn’t like Dean had it easy; his parents were far less accepting than John, for one thing.
He rubbed his thumb in circles on Dean’s foot, watching as his toes began to twitch slightly. The buzzing of his cell phone forced Sam to move and he eased himself out from under Dean, grabbed his cell and frowned when he saw a text from his service provider. It was late, much later than he’d thought it was and his Dad still hadn’t called. Heading into the kitchen, he dialed his Dad’s number and worried at his lip as he waited for him to pick up. There was no answer. He tried three times before giving up, walking back to Dean and gently shaking him awake.
“Sammy? Everything okay?” Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“I don’t know, my Dad hasn’t called yet and he’s not picking up when I call him. I’m going to go and have a drive around, just see if I can spot him.”
“Right, do you want me to come with you?” He sat up, started pulling on his sneakers.
“No, it’s okay. He’s probably just lost or held up or something. It’s late, anyway. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”
“Yeah, alright.” He stood up and walked Sam to the door, “Are you sure? I mean, I know this place better than you do.”
Sam smiled, “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for offering though. I’ll see you soon.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Dean’s.
It started out as a chaste kiss, a soft press of lips against lips but, as Sam went to pull away, Dean grabbed at his arm and deepened it, running his tongue along Sam’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth. Sam hummed with pleasure and wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist as their tongues collided. They pulled apart minutes later, gasping for breath, and Sam placed one more soft kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth before leaving. He managed to get halfway down the path before turning back and shouting to Dean.
“That was our first kiss!”
Dean laughed, “I know, you’re such a girl.”
“Please, you’re going to go in and write all about it in your diary now.” He smirked.
“Dork.”
“Night, Dean.”
There had been no lightning for half an hour, the rain had almost stopped and he had long since finished putting together makeshift flamethrowers. There was nothing else that he could do aside from going out there and killing the damn thing. Slinging his duffels over his shoulder, he closed the cabin door quietly behind him and looked around.
It was lighter now, and he wondered briefly just how late he was for meeting Sam before shaking the thought off and getting ready to hunt. His head snapped around as a twig crunched somewhere in the distance and he cursed under his breath. If he’d heard the twig break, then there was no doubt that the Wendigo had heard him; the thing had probably been waiting for him to break cover.
Another twig snapped.
The Wendigo roared.
And the chase was on.
Chapter Four