CHANGING - Chapter 6/10

[leighannwallace.livejournal.com]

Title: CHANGING

Author: Leigh Ann Wallace
Rating: PG
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters:Sam, Dean and Bobby
Word count: 2103
Summary: Sam is bitten by a shapeshifter. Are the legends true, will Sam change? How can Dean save him?
Spoilers: (if applicable) You're safe if you've season eps up to season five. Mention of Lucifer and the apocalypse
Warnings: (if applicable) Shameless Angst
Disclaimer: Pretty clear I don't own anything to do with Supernatural. Written out of love and passionate obsession.

Dean rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up.

"Christ, I hate camping."

Sam poured dirt over the campfire, then walked around the perimeter of their campsite kicking out the Anasazi protection symbols . "Yeah, me too." He looked around, making sure he hadn't missed anything.

Dean eyed him. It was cold, under freezing for sure, and his brother looked - comfortable. He wore a heavy coat and gloves, sure, but no hat, no clacking teeth, no shivering. Normally, he'd be bitching like crazy about having to be out in weather like this.

"Dude, what's up with you? Aren't you cold?"

"What?"

"Cold, aren't you cold?" Dean gestured at the bleak, mountainous landscape, the patches of snow on the ground, the occasional flurry coming down.

"Not really." Unconcerned, Sam shrugged. "Since it happened" - no need to specify what it he was talking about - "I've been running hot."

"You're sick?" Dean's voice was edged with concern.

"No." Sam picked up his backpack and shrugged into it, saw his brother staring at him with worried eyes.

"Seriously, Dean, I'm good. I think the higher body temp is just, um, normal for me now."

"I'm not sure normal covers this, Sammy," Dean said flatly.

"Whatever. Look, I may not be freezing my ass off like you, but I still want to get the hell off this damned mountain, so let's get moving."

"Yeah, no shit." More than happy, for now, to drop the whole running hot issue, Dean pulled out the map they'd gotten at one of the ranger stations and studied it, lips pursed.

"If this bastard keeps going the way it's going now, it'll take him away from casual hikers, which is good. But, it'll also take him further up the mountain. That's bad. The higher up we go, the colder it's gonna get. And this time of year, that's pretty freaking cold."

"He's not gonna do that," Sam said with certainty. "This thing still needs to feed. There's no people up there, so no food. More than likely he's going to twist around, fall back to Cold Creek."

"So why is he still moving up? The sign's been pretty clear."

"I'm thinking it knows we're tracking it. You remember the last time a Wendigo left us this much sign?" Sam asked.

Dean flashed back to Blackwater Ridge, Colorado - three terrified civilians, an unbelievably fast nightmare clutching him by the throat, and the satisfactory memory of a twisted creature being devoured by flames. "So it's a trap."

"Oh, hell yes."

"Good."

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean grinned.

"That means we're probably not going to have to chase this bastard all the way to the top of this freaking mountain." He laughed. "Las Vegas, here we come!"

Bobby opened his front door to Sheriff Jody Mills.

They had a history, of the supernatural variety, which they rarely spoke of. She liked to pretend that it had never happened, that the world she lived in was one of easily quantifiable happenings.

She didn't like to be reminded that her young son had died, been brought back to life by unknown forces, and that said son had then murdered her husband - his own father.

Bobby could see her point, especially since that whole damned fiasco had ended in him having to kill his own wife for the second goddamned time.

"Bobby." The Sheriff greeted him with a friendly, if somewhat reserved, smile.

"Sheriff." He invited her in and she shook her head.

"Thanks, no. I can't stay. Listen, Bobby, we found a body about a half mile off your property, over near the highway. Looks like he was killed about two days ago. Shot. Yours is the closest house to where we found him. Wanted to know if you heard anything. Some time Monday, that would be."

"Not unusual to hear gunshots around here, but I don't remember hearing anything," Bobby answered. "He got any i.d. on him?"

She shook her head. "No wallet. No car. Looks like he was in his fifties. Dark hair, about six feet. Jeans and jacket. His face was marked up; looked like he'd been in a fight not too long before he was shot."

A very nasty suspicion stirred. "Any tattoos?"

Jody cocked her head at him, alert to something in his voice. "USMC, on his right forearm."

Bobby sighed inwardly. "Crap. You got a picture of him?"

"Uh uh. Think you might know him?"

"Friend of mine was here a couple days ago. Saw him last on Monday morning. Fits the general description."

Jody sighed. "Well, hell, Bobby, I'm sorry. I hope it's not him. Can you come down to the morgue and take a look?"

"Crap." Bobby blew out a deep breath, rubbed his hand over his face. Freaking Bill.

"Yeah. I'll follow you in."

The hiker's camp was destroyed. Pup tent slashed and hanging open; campfire kicked over - the contents of a backpack, a lost life, scattered around the clearing. There was a lot of blood.

There was no need for conversation; the Winchesters had done this too many times before. The two brothers, weapons ready, searched the camp for sign - not signs of life, that wasn't going to happen. But sign that might lead them to their quarry.

Twenty yards outside the camp Sam found the beginnings of a trail, blood and shreds of clothing inside a copse of desiccated pine trees. A low hiss brought Dean to him and they circled the copse and the area just beyond. Further on, a second spattering of blood and flesh.

Stepping softly, quietly, the two hunters followed the trail - blood dotting the ground, or splashed against a boulder or tree, every twenty feet or so

There was a faint rustling off the trail. Swinging swiftly in that direction, they saw a lizard scuttling away. Nothing else moved.

As they moved forward, the smell of blood filled Sam's nostrils and the coppery tang of death clung to the back of his throat.

Sam reached out, touched his older brother's shoulder. "It's close."

Nodding, Dean motioned toward a large boulder off the side of the trail. There was a long smear of blood on the side; it looked like something had been dragged up the side of the boulder and over the top.

Dean, flamethrower ready, moved toward the boulder, his brother close behind him, flare pistol in hand.

Sam could smell the Wendigo. It smelled of old blood and rotting flesh, raising the hackles on the back of his neck. His eyes sparked.

Dean glanced at him, froze.

"Sam!" he hissed. "You okay?"

Sam put his finger to his lips, nodding his head. He pointed to himself and to the top of the boulder. He pointed to his brother and then down the trail.

Dean gave a short nod and, turning his attention back to the trail, continued on.

With a few lithe leaps, Sam was soon crouched on top of the boulder, senses wide open. His body quivered with excitement.

He could see everything, knew everything, was everything - the chipmunk chattering nervously in a nearby tree, the hawk circling high overhead - every inch of him connecting incontrovertibly to this wild, free place.

For just a moment, the mission was forgotten.

Civilization, forgotten. His other self, and Dean, forgotten.

A frigid wind from the peaks above blew his hair back from his face - alive, alive, alive.

The sound of Dean's footsteps on the trail below.

Focus.

Wendigo. Blood trail.

Hunt.

Sam's eyes were a brilliant, fevered yellow. Collecting sensory information not just with his nose, but with the receptors in his mouth as well, he followed the blood across the top of the large boulders. Human blood. Just a few hours old.

The trail got heavier the farther he went - the monster must have been dragging the corpse to leave this much spoor; the smell of blood was so strong he could have followed it with his eyes closed.

The trail ended in a small depression between two large rocks, the space just large enough for the corpse shoved inside it. Bloody scraps, broken down into the most basic components of flesh, blood and bone; there was little left to show it had once been human.

Why had the body been left? Why hadn't the Wendigo eaten it? Or taken it to its lair? Where was the thing?

A cold feeling started in his stomach as Sam remembered what they'd talked about this morning.

This was the trap. The Wendigo had drawn him up here, separating him from his brother.

Dean.

Dean might not have his brother's super senses, but he'd been a hunter for too many years not to sense when death was near. He spun in a slow circle, flame thrower ready.

A harsh guttural cry came from somewhere behind him and his gut tightened in reflex; he swung in that direction, finger on the trigger. Then, a scrabbling noise just behind him - knowing he was too late, way too late, he started to spin back.

Sam almost didn't make it.

Moving fast, almost as fast as the creature they were hunting, Sam saw, as he crested the top of the rocks, the Wendigo appear suddenly behind his brother. Dean started to turn and Sam launched himself off the top of the rock, landing on top of the monster, knocking his brother back several feet, where he hit the ground, hard.

Breath knocked out of him, Dean lay gasping for air. He was aware of a roaring mass of noise and confusion a few feet away from him and he staggered up, trying to breathe, still holding tight to the flamethrower.

The Wendigo roared with anger and raked its jagged claws over Sam's back, ripping through his jacket, trying to get a grip on flesh through cloth. The hunter knew he had to make it quick. The thing was too strong, too damned fast.

Before it could fasten on him, Sam tightened his grip on its neck and swung it in a short crunching arc against the rocks.

As the whirling madness that was his brother and the Wendigo came to an abrupt halt in the clearing, Dean's lungs finally kicked in.

He pulled in a ragged breath. "Shit!"

Sam leapt out of the way. "Dean! Now!"

Dean raised the flamethrower and fired at the monster where it lay stunned on the ground against the rocks. Flames bellowed out, covered it, devoured it. Death screams reverberated to the sky.

Even when the creature lay still, charred and undoubtedly dead, Dean kept the flames on it.

"You okay, Sam?" he shouted back over his shoulder.

There was no answer for a long moment.

"Sam!"

Sam shuffled up beside him. "I'm good, Dean. Finish it." His voice was harsh and muffled, his face turned away from his brother.

Dean nodded shortly, focused back on the Wendigo, letting his brother collect himself.

The flamethrower fizzled out after another minute or two. Dean pulled out a can of accelerant from his coat pocket, soaked the last of the remains and set it alight.

Sam handed a bottle of water to Dean, who nodded his thanks. He drank it thirstily as they watched the flames finish their job.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly, his eyes back to their normal color, and flame-free.

"Yeah." Dean twisted his shoulders and neck, heard a few little pops as he relieved the tension. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I couldn't shoot. He was too close to you."

"Huh. Then I guess I'll forgive you for almost breaking my damned neck." He turned his brother toward him, ran his hands over his head and neck, checking for damage. When he saw the huge tears in the back of Sam's jacket, he gasped and pulled the jacket off, searching for wounds.

"Jesus, Sam, there's not a mark on you."

"I got hold of him before he knew I was there. He couldn't break my grip." Sam shrugged. "I knew if I let go, he'd either run or kill us both. So - I didn't. I knew you'd be ready with the fire when I tossed him."

"Well, I guess we have to thank that freaking skinwalker blood for this one, then," Dean said. "Pretty sure you couldn't have held onto him without that."

"Probably not," Sam agreed wryly.

Dean grinned with satisfaction. "Now, you see, little brother, this is why I love Wendigos. Simple. Just pure, freaking evil. Kill 'em quick and get the hell out."

Sam smiled at his happy, happy big brother. "Vegas?"

"Vegas!"

Comments

[monicawoe.livejournal.com]

Awww

Vegas! : D

your review to Changing

[leighannwallace.livejournal.com]

Vegas is Dean's Disneyland! :)

[kris-winchester.livejournal.com]

*squeals*
Sorry to not have commented before now, but I was too enthralled to stop and write! :) I'm currently loving this arc! You have some very creative ideas spinning around here... Consider me intrigued. Please continue!

your reply to Changing

[leighannwallace.livejournal.com]

Very happy you're reading and even happier you like it! Thank you very much. I'll have the next chapter up in just the next couple of hours.

Edition 2,290

[livejournal.livejournal.com]

User waterofthemoon referenced to your post from Edition 2,290 (http://spnnewsletter.livejournal.com/638347.html) saying: [...] by (G) Changing 6/10 [...]

Re: Edition 2,290

[leighannwallace.livejournal.com]

Hi, I know I've been getting these comments from livejournal, but sorry, have no idea what this means. Is a comment not getting through for some reason?

[kris-winchester.livejournal.com]

I'm actually pretty sure this just means that the user who "commented" referenced or linked to your fic in one of their posts.

oh!

[leighannwallace.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[kris-winchester.livejournal.com]

Of course. Glad I could help. :)