Link to Part 1: https://maximumsuckage.tumblr.com/post/167175722147/dreamscape
Description: Werewolf exploits continue. Sam and Dean get involved.
Words: 3693
a/n: lemme know if you wanna be tagged in this piece of trash. updates gon take a bit longer. end of semester projects, you know how it is #college
A solid week or so later
Sam had been tied up on a good many occasions. Not one of them were good, but this time was at least better than the time with Becky. He had a feeling that Gabriel would have a sexually themed quip for a moment like this, which wasn’t exactly a helpful thought, as it didn’t give him a real plan on how to get out of this. He had no doubt that he would get out of this, because they always did, and even if he died for real this time, he had a sneaking suspicion that he would wake up in his own bed a few days later. Also why was he thinking about Gabriel, because Gabriel was dead and no real help to this case. Even if the archangel were alive, he probably wouldn’t be a big help. So really, he should collect his thoughts, blast through the haze of the concussion that was caused by the throbbing lump on the back of his head, and bust his way out of these ropes.
Where were Jack and Dean? Sam blinked blearily at his surroundings as he tried to piece together what had happened. Black was flickering at the edge of his vision, threatening to send him back under, and his thoughts felt hazy and disjointed. He saw, through his spotty vision, someone else tied up across the clearing, but he didn’t think it was Dean. That man was stockier than Dean, shorter and wider. Not Dean.
Sam continued scanning the clearing. There was a bonfire in the center. Some of the warmth reached him. It was pleasant against the night chill and Sam strained towards it. The ropes creaked at the movement, but held, stinging against his wrists. Sam glanced down, irritated with the pain, and realized that they’d been rubbed raw under the ropes. He must have been struggling, but he couldn’t remember.
That was alarming. Concussion, spotty memory… Sam closed his eyes and slumped against the ropes, exhausted as he considered the circumstances. He needed to sleep, he decided. That would help him.
Somebody was chanting. Sam opened one eye and glared in the direction of the chanter. The words were harsh, more barks and snarls than actual words, and Sam wanted him to shut up so he could take a nap and clear his head. The warmth of the fire seemed to be responding to the words though, the chill of night falling away. It felt good for a moment, until Sam remembered why they were there. No. It was not good.
He yanked against the ropes, but the knots held fast. His fingers were wet- he realized with some worry that it was blood from his raw wrists, dripping down his palms. Yanking again only worsened the wounds, and he groaned and slumped, looking towards the fire, which was growing brighter and brighter.
Now there was a shadow in the center, a dark spot surrounded by white light. It grew bigger and bigger, as though coming closer from a great distance, and Sam shouted out a warning. Whatever was coming, it was not good, and the more he yanked at the ropes, the tighter they seemed to become. Sam shouted again, and this time somebody responded. A boy walked over, and hit him.
He slumped, oblivious.
A week and a few days earlier, aka, before the events of the second half of chapter 2
Three boys had abandoned the pack in favor of this new wolf. Their names were Charlie, Darren, and Brent. The three weren’t exactly beloved amidst the pack. They chaffed against rules, went too vicious against animals, desired free reign of the forest. Them being teenagers, their tendencies were generally ignored by the adults, who would turn a worried eye in their direction but generally hope that someday a nice girl would tame them.
Apparently, a nice girl had not gotten there in time, especially considering that there were only four eligible young women their age. Two were dating other wolves, one was dating a boy from Fairpoint. The other was Charlotte, who had already decided that she was gunning for Alpha, though she was not yet twenty. The issue with that was that it had long been a rule that Alpha, whether male or female, could not have a family, as they were supposed to treat the pack as their children- naturally, the rule had been broken multiple times (unbeknownst to anybody beside the midwife and Melissa herself, the aggressive little girl Harry had witnessed earlier was actually Melissa’s illegitimate daughter, though that has nothing to do with this particular case).
Nobody had recognized the strange wolf. It wasn’t an oddity to see strangers coming through town. As one of the few purely werewolf settlements that remained, Fairpoint’s werewolves saw a lot of visitors coming through on vacation, to live with them a few days, hunt the multitudes of deer in the woods, and feel like a real wolf for a bit before returning to their dull lives in the cities. So when he showed up, all dark hair and charismatic smile, nobody had said anything, and in fact, a few had invited him on a hunt.
He had taken an interest in Charlie, Darren, and Brent, more than anybody else. He convinced them to take him out hunting after dark (against the rules, though that didn’t stop them). Their parents didn’t take much of an interest, though Melissa had confronted them when they came back in the next morning. They had laughed, and then, when she pushed, promised not to do it again. She hadn’t yelled at the stranger. He was a visitor, not one of her pack.
Melissa hadn’t worried too much about it. She was used to the boys being troublemakers, and she fully expected them to grow out of it when they got older.
It was a teensy bit later that she became worried.
The stranger had come to her home, stormed into her office, and fallen to his knees in front of her while she looked on in surprise.
“Melissa, sweet alpha Melissa,” the man had said. He was halfway through the Change, bones cracking with every movement, and his ears were pressed back in a gesture of submission. “I have looked upon your town, and I have seen an image of paradise.”
This had never happened before, and Melissa had found herself momentarily floored. “Thank you,” she said with a smile, reaching down to pull him back to his feet. She wondered if he was drunk, though she didn’t smell any alcohol. It was odd. She could feel his bones shifting under his skin as she pulled him up. “I’m happy you like our little home. Feel free to stay as long as you want.” She paused. “We also have coupons for Water Safari tickets, if you’re interested in seeing more of the area.”
“Water Safari?” He gave her a confused look.
“It’s a water amusement park nearby- never mind. Are you okay? Do you need me to call somebody for you?”
“There is only one I need to call,” he said, ignoring the bit about the coupons. “You, alpha Melissa, must call upon the one true Alpha.”
She had been thrown off by the bowing, but now she was even more off balance. One true Alpha? All she could think of was the president, maybe, but she didn’t plan on calling any politicians and letting them know that there was a group of part-humans who weren’t paying taxes. “Maybe you want to head to bed, sir. I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“No!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “This is the perfect place, don’t you see? We can make this his new stronghold. A utopia for the wolves, run by our god.”
“I’m agnostic,” Melissa said doubtfully. “I used to be Catholic, but after the aborted Apocalypse a few years ago…”
“Not God,” he said, throwing a hand upwards. “Our god. The original wolf! Fenrir himself!”
Melissa stared at him for a moment, opened her mouth, closed it, and then set her chin on top of her fingers, slowly lowering them to point at him. “You make a valid point,” she said, not at all sure how to deal with a religious zealot worshipping a god who either didn’t exist, or hadn’t shown his face in a very long time. “But you might want to choose a different place for your utopia. We’re quite alright how we are here.”
“No. This is the chosen land.” He swept his hands out wide. Claws flashed on the ends of his twisted fingers. “I can feel it… it is holy here. Untouched by human hands. This is the land of the wolves.”
“Let me have someone escort you to your room,” Melissa said, wondering why he was spewing this to her instead of sleeping off whatever he’d been drinking.
“No!” He threw his arms wide and let out a howl that shook her to her very bones. His body twisted and cracked, and then there was a wolf standing before her, all fangs and claws and hateful yellow eyes. “This is the holy land,” he said, and his voice was the snarl of an animal warped into human speech. “I will show you the light. Fenrir will come, and you will either bow before him, or feel his holy teeth in your neck.”
And then he leapt from the room, letting out another bloodcurdling howl. It was answered, and Melissa realized with a chill deep in her bones that the answered howls were their three young men, filled with lust for a future of blood.
A week and a few days later, aka, the lead-up to Sam being bound and concussed at the beginning of this chapter
The Impala rolled into town as it had a thousand other little towns a thousand times before. Sam was antsy in the passenger seat- Dean had promised a hundred miles before that they would stop at the next gas station for a bathroom break, and then he seemed to take great glee in watching Sam squirm each time they passed a rest stop. The only thing that kept Sam from slugging Dean across the mouth was the fact that Dean’s smile at his misery was the first time Sam had seen Dean smile since Castiel, and, uncomfortable as he was, he didn’t want to ruin it.
Although, as they drove past the tourist shops of Fairpoint, he was starting to consider Dean’s slow mental recovery to be second to his more pressing return.
“The leaves here are beautiful,” Jack said, for the thousandth time since they’d entered the mountains. The back window was open, and he was leaning out like a dog, amazed by the height and color and density of the mountain forest after the open spaces of the Midwest. “Can we go into the forest? I want to see a bear. I read that there were bears here.”
“We’re not here for sightseeing,” Dean grumped back at him, and glanced at Sam. “Any of these hotels get good reviews?”
“I’m a little distracted to look right now, Dean.” Sam shot him a glare.
Dean shrugged. “Hey man, I told you not to get that iced mocha skim white girl pumpkin crap latte at our last stop.”
“I got a small cup of black coffee because it was free if you bought ten gallons of gas,” Sam said through his teeth. “Just pick a place, man.”
Dean chuckled at his pain again and pulled into the first parking lot they came to. Sam was out of the car before he’d even put it in park, vanishing into the office building. Jack watched him go, not quite sure what was funny about the situation, and looked at Dean again. “I was thinking… on a lot of these cases, you make me stay in the motel room for a lot of it. What if you give me a key so I can go out and walk on the path? I saw a sign for a path, and I want to see the bears.” He tilted his head hopefully, not wanting to upset Dean, but also, bears. “I’ll stay on the path. I promise.”
Dean glanced back at him, an eyebrow quirked up. “Kid, bears will eat you alive.” He fumbled around for his wallet and then got out of the car.
Jack was right there. Dean jumped, then rolled his eyes and started for the office, boots crunching on the gravel lot.
“What if I stay a far enough distance from them that I have enough time to run?” he asked, head still tilted. “I wouldn’t try to touch one. They are wild animals, and wild animals do not like people.” He glanced away as he said it, repeating something Sam had said, when Jack had gone running after a fox he’d seen rummaging around by the bunker.
The odd thing had been that the fox had not been afraid, Jack thought. In fact, the fox had trotted up and started coiling about his legs like a cat, and its tail wagged when Jack had delightedly reached down to pet it. It had only gotten angry when Sam walked outside, nipping Jack’s hand and bolting away. The bite had healed instantly, but it had still been enough to make Sam nervous.
“No bears,” Dean repeated, and pushed open the door to the office, where Sam was already waiting, looking more relaxed than he had before.
They booked a room with two beds and a pullout couch, and it was a few minutes later that Jack was left alone in the room with a coloring book, a box of crayons, and the TV guide while Sam and Dean went out to talk to the man who had called them.
Sheriff Baldwin may have had no idea what a ghost hunter was, but one of the younger cops on the force had an uncle who dabbled in ghost busting on the side. When he’d heard rumors of werewolves, he’d shot his uncle a text. The uncle couldn’t make it out, as he had a real job that he couldn’t take two weeks off of, but he’d given his nephew a list of names and phone numbers that may have been able to help. The first three hadn’t answered. A man had answered the fourth one, sobbing, to say that his wife had died taking out a wendigo, whatever that was. The fifth one had gotten a gruff answer of, “Winchester.”
The nephew had explained, feeling like a complete idiot (werewolves, seriously?) what had happened to the terrifying and stern silence on the other end of the line. Then he’d given an address and his name (Marty Grimes). The man on the line had grunted, and there was the sound of a pen scratching down the information, and then he said, “We’ll be there,” and hung up.
Now, Marty found himself feeling very skinny and small and pathetic as he looked up at the two men who were standing in the doorway of the police station, flashing fed badges and walking over to his desk. Which was a table. Marty was too new for a desk, but they had given him a card table to put his laptop on when he was there. He hoped those two badass looking strangers weren’t the ones he had called in, but, sure enough, they were making a beeline for his table.
“Officer Grimes?” The shorter of the two (who was still freaky tall and ruggedly handsome and probably jacked under that suit) eyeballed him, no doubt judging his stick arms. “We’re here for your case.”
“Yeah. Um, let’s talk out there.” He gestured for the hallway.
Marty had no idea that most of the force knew that there were wolves in the woods. He had graduated the academy barely six months before, and if one looked at him, one would assume he was still sixteen (he prayed every day that puberty would happen to him overnight). This town had been the first place to offer a job, so he’d moved from the hive of scum and villainy that was the tiny city he’d grown up in to the fresh air of the Adirondacks, excited to make a difference. He’d immediately regretted the move, as the only place more boring than his hometown was Fairpoint, but now he had to wait a few years before he tried to leave, so he’d have some professional experience under his belt. His outsider status, combined with being a rookie, meant that little plot points like a werewolf town were lost to him.
Sam and Dean towered over him, intimidating behemoths of men, muscled and rugged heroes that belonged in the distant past of myth and legend. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried not to be incredibly attracted to both of them, because these two men were most definitely straight, probably screwing three scantily clad women a day each, although, he was skinny enough, that maybe they wouldn’t mind-
He shook his head, reminding himself that these two beautiful creatures were here about werewolves and not for him, though he had been the one to call.
“Okay… I know this sounds crazy,” he started, glancing towards the main area of the precinct to make sure nobody else was going to walk out and judge him. “But there was a kid who was found dead, and… I don’t know… his heart was ripped out, but not like an animal. More like…” He hesitated. It sounded so stupid when said out loud.
“Werewolf.” Sam finished the sentence for him, nodding. Dean may have been the one to answer the phone, but he’d filled Sam in quickly. “Good you called us. Do you have any clue who it might be?”
“…where the hell- Oh, Grimes, what’re you doing with the feds?” Harry stepped out into the hall, casting a suspicious look towards Sam and Dean. He’d just heard that the government got involved, because apparently nobody liked to tell him anything. If the FBI got wind of Melissa’s settlement, then there would be hell to pay from everybody, and the wolves would have to either fight or disperse, neither of which were viable options.
“Sheriff.” Sam stepped forward first, holding out his badge. “We’re here about the child’s murder.”
Harry eyeballed the badge, and then frowned. “You’re not feds.”
Marty, of course, already knew that, but Sam and Dean exchange a look quick as a blink before looking back at the sheriff. “What makes you say that?” Dean’s eyes narrowed, ready for a fight.
“They just updated their badges,” Harry said, looking between them. “A new stamp, or something like that. Makes them harder to forge.”
“Heh.” Dean elbowed Sam. “Guess they missed us, Agent Speight. Can’t believe they did it again.”
“Like I said when we came in, this is Agent Collins, and I’m Agent Speight,” Sam said, introducing themselves to the sheriff. “Our badges are on the way in the mail. Right now we’re here for-”
“On the way in the mail isn’t a thing,” Harry said, stepping towards them, a hand resting on his gun. He hoped he wasn’t wrong, but he’d applied to the FBI at one point in his life, and he’d done extensive research beforehand. Them turning him down had not been a high point of his life. “Now tell me who you are, or I’m calling dispatch to find out the truth.”
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, that miniscule look representing a plan so that, if it came to a fight, they would move in sync. They were saved by Marty, who looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle. “I called them,” he said, kicking the floor. “The victim sounded like something my uncle saw once… heart ripped out. I just… I know it’s not real, but I wanted to be sure.”
Harry eyeballed the three of them, at a loss to where the conversation was headed. “What did your uncle see?”
“Werewolf.” Marty’s voice came out in a tiny, sad squeak.
There was silence in the hall for a moment, and then Harry gestured at the not-feds. “And you called them about the werewolf problem. And they’re not FBI, to be sure?”
There was silence, and then Marty nodded slowly, flinching at the sudden mental image of his boss screaming at him for being a total idiot and calling in unqualified strangers to deal with a murder. This was it. He’d be back home in his mom’s apartment, playing video games and hoping that someday his big break would come, as a writer or a Broadway singer or something unlikely like that. Who was he to think he could be a cop? He was just a scrawny kid who wanted a cute boyfriend and a cute home and a cute life. He wasn’t cut out for the hardened life of a mountain cop.
And yet, now Sheriff Baldwin was laughing? Was he laughing at the idea of firing Marty, because he couldn’t deal with that.
“Kid, there’s a lot you have to learn about this place,” he said, clapping a hand to Marty’s shoulder. Then he turned to Sam and Dean. “Whatever you guys are here to do, we don’t need it. This is an internal affair. The wolves haven’t killed any human in hundreds of years.”
“We’re here now.” Sam glanced at Dean, then looked at the sheriff again. “And the victim is a clear werewolf kill. Even if the ones you know are the good guys, it doesn’t mean one hasn’t gone rogue, or a new one hasn’t showed up.”
There was silence in the hall for a moment, and then Sheriff Baldwin narrowed his eyes. “You guys mean you’ve dealt with this crap before?”
At their twin nods, he sighed. Maybe the help would be good. If not, he could always bag them for impersonating FBI agents. “Fine. Step into my office, and I’ll tell you what I know so far.
As strumpets paint their faces, and deck and perfume their beds, the better to allure and deceive simple souls; so false teachers will put a great deal of paint and garnish upon their most dangerous principles and blasphemies, that they may the better deceive and delude poor ignorant souls. They know sugared poison goes down sweetly; they wrap up their pernicious, soul-killing pills in gold! (Gal. 6:12; 2 Cor. 11:13-15; Rom. 16:17, 18; Matt. 16:6,11,12; 7:15.)
