Fic | Souvenirs From The Edge of the Highway | SPN | 1/5

[siehn]

I hope you enjoy.

Masterpost

“As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;

For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”

"Goddammit! Hughes! I said stay put!"

"There are only two of 'em! I don't need you to baby-sit me, Winchester!" The kid had a death wish and all because his father ranked high in the hierarchy, but apparently hadn't bothered to really teach his son the ropes. Dean was half-tempted to just sit back and watch. He'd told them he wasn't going to fucking rescue them.

"Dean? Dean, what's going on? I thought we were wait--"

Sam's voice sounded too shrill in his ear and he winced. God, he hated the communicators. "Hold your damn position, Sam," he ordered gruffly, pulling the .45 caliber colt from out of his pocket and checking the chamber. Silver bullets—the only kind that would take out a werewolf. Not that he thought he’d need to use more than two.

"Hold my -- Wait, Dean, what are you doing? You can't..." Sam trailed off, and Dean barely managed to suppress the sigh as he scrambled through the jagged hole in the chain-link fence after the rookie.

"Hughes is right there," Sam hissed. He was really starting to build up steam. "Do you really want him to see that?"

"I don't have much of a fucking choice now, do I, Sammy?" Dean snarled quietly, crawling slowly forward, towards the soft growls and the almost overwhelming stench of blood. Hughes was ahead, ready to step out into the open. Christ, his life was some kind of big, cosmic joke; he was sure of it.

"Dad's favorite newbie is doing his goddamn best to get us all killed. Lecture me later when we're all still alive," Dean told his brother sharply, cutting over his protests. The junkyard provided good cover and Sam was probably still despairing of Dean’s admittedly terrible ‘junkyard dogs’ jokes. Better to keep him on his toes; the bastard was getting too smug.

"Hughes! I'm giving you one more chance. Get your ass back here, now, and --"

"What is with you, Winchester? It's two werewolves, not a fucking ar-- Oh, shit!" The kid's voice went high, panicked, and Dean was hit hard with the scent of his fear. He growled.

"I hate fucking idiots," he told the world at large, taking shallow breaths to fight against his own instincts. He broke cover to see that Hughes had tripped in his haste to get away. His gun was about a foot or so away from him and he was easy meat for the two werewolves already circling, let alone for the three that were on approach.

Honestly, Dean should just let them rip the moron to shreds, but he couldn't. He couldn't just stand there, and watch the kid die his first time out because of a stupid mistake. Everyone was cocky their first time; it was after you survived the inevitable fuck-up that you learned.

Dean stood, lifted the gun in casual aim, and fired. The largest of them – male, and very angry, -- turned to snarl at Dean when the bullet bit into his arm. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it was exactly what Dean wanted -- their attention completely focused on him. He stood at his full height in front of them, confident, and assured, and bared his teeth in an animal snarl of his own. It was tricky. He never knew how much wolf they had in them, exactly, but he trusted his instincts so he stared them down as he lowered the gun.

Hughes's eyes widened, — fear, and anger, and surprise — when he looked at Dean.

Dean’s eyes had gone a deep, burnished gold that was obviously inhuman.

The werewolves focused on him, nothing human left in those sharp, wild gazes, and moved warily closer, -- obviously recognizing something close to kin in him. They snarled, and bared their teeth in a clear territorial threat, but not one of them held his gaze. Dean smiled coldly, a human gesture that he knew would translate as it was meant to – dominance, and threat. Four of them backed down without a real fight. They were submissive; they whined and showed their throats even as they moved backwards in preparation to flee. He ignored them, -- the big male was the one to watch, and he stayed focused on him.

“Got a problem, asshole?” He couldn’t resist the dig even though he knew it was wasted -- these creatures were too far beyond humanity to understand. There was no fear smell beyond the human’s and the submissive wolves’, and he vaguely thought he should have expected this.

The big male snarled angrily, and charged. Dean shifted his stance and ignored the twinge of his conscience that said he was killing his own kind. He wasn’t a monster.

He growled, low, and with his own brand of angry, raised the gun, and emptied the clip into the werewolf. He dropped, his chest full of silver, and died choking on his own blood.

Echoing gunshots, and loud, cut-off half-screams signified the end of the other four. Sammy, at least, knew how to do his fucking job.

“You ever disobey an order again,” Dean told Hughes, kicking the boy’s gun over to him with his toe, “and I’ll have you barred faster than you can say ‘fuck-up.’ I don’t baby-sit puppies and I sure as Hell won’t be saving you again, kid. You gotta learn to save other people and you can’t fucking do that if you get yourself killed. If you’re gonna go that way, you do it early and with the least amount of innocent casualties.”

He turned on his heel and stalked off, still all predator. He half-expected to hear a gun cocking behind him. He hadn’t missed that wide-eyed disgust in the kid’s eyes.

“Dean?” Sam walked up and stared down at him, all earnest concern. Dean rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine, Sammy. We doin’ clean-up here, or--”

“No, the crew’s on its way. Dad said down-time when we get back, and no, I didn’t tell him about this,” Sam cut him off, ignoring Dean’s annoyed glare. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. “You’re damn lucky I didn’t, Dean. What if Hughes decides he doesn’t want to keep his mouth shut?”

“You worry too much, Sammy. He talks, and I’ll fucking shoot him. End of story,” he shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with a hunter finding out, and thinking he could run his mouth about it; probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

Sam couldn’t let it go, though. “I don’t trust him, Dean. His dad is--”

“Leave it, Sam. His dad isn’t shit in the long-run, and it doesn’t matter anyway. What? Did you want me to let the kid’s heart get eaten? I’m real sure our Dad would appreciate that,” he snapped, cutting over him sharply in the dominant manner that said he expected to be obeyed.

Dean stared him down until Sam dropped his gaze away, sighing in exasperated defeat.

“Yeah, okay, fine. Go get the car packed up. I’ll make sure princess, over there didn’t actually faint,” Sam said, giving in because it was easier.

Dean’s whole demeanor softened after Sam backed down, and he nudged his brother’s shoulder affectionately, offering a triumphant half-grin before loping off towards the car. Sam headed for Hughes, still sitting on his ass in the dirt, hand closed over the gun Dean had kicked back to him.

He’d told Dean he’d drop it and he would, but he would make sure the bastard knew to keep his damn mouth shut, first. He took his time looking the kid over; making sure his gaze was filled with disdainful amusement.

“You alright, Hughes? I’d hate to tell your Dad we let you get bit on your first time out,” he said, conversationally. The kid ignored him, which Sam had mostly expected. It was annoying though, and he sighed, even as he offered a hand to help the other hunter to his feet. Hughes took it and Sam tugged him up, watching closely as the man’s mouth opened once he’d finally focused on Sam himself.

“Sam!” Dean called from the Impala, packing their weapons away carefully.

“Yeah, coming!” Sam replied, raised an arm to wave when Dean looked, and waited patiently for him to turn back to his task. Hughes was still there, staring at Dean with something like disgust on his face and Sam raised himself to his full height, dropping the easy-going, manner he usually adopted. It was easy to make people forget that he, too, was a Winchester.

“--can’t believe you work with it! That thing could turn on you at any second. This needs to be reported, Winchester, and--”

Hughes’s words choked off, and Sam enjoyed the way his eyes widened when his back hit the rusted side of an old pick-up truck. He lifted his hands in some effort to pull at his throat, but there was nothing physically holding him there and Sam smiled coldly as he stalked up to press the barrel of his gun against the newbie’s jaw. Hughes went still, glaring at him, but Sam could see the fear there, too; the knowledge that he was dealing with an unknown quantity.

“Listen up, kiddo, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once,” Sam began conversationally, casting a quick glance towards the Impala to make sure Dean was still occupied. He hated it when Sam got all protective. He was the big-brother, dammit, not Sam. But Sam had been protecting Dean’s secret his entire life. He wasn’t going to stop now.

Dean wasn’t the only dangerous Winchester.

“You tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about what you saw tonight, and I’ll hunt you down, and slit your throat while you sleep,” he told him, quiet, honest, and he could see it ring true in Hughes’s eyes.

“Dean’s mine and you aren’t allowed to hurt him,” he added softly, waiting for the acknowledging nod before he pulled inward, and let the power fade. He backed off, but kept the gun leveled for a long moment, enjoying the trickle of nervous sweat running down Hughes’ face.

Hughes waited until he’d put it away before he spoke. It was funny that he thought that would make a difference.

“You’re fucked in the head, Winchester,” he told him, voice shaking. “You and your brother.” Sam thought it was a small price to pay, in the scheme of things.

He shrugged, smiled the easy-going smile that charmed everyone into thinking he was harmless. “You get used to it.”

Dean called again, impatient, and Sam laughed at him and went to join him in the car, leaving Hughes to find his own way back. The kid wouldn’t say anything and Dean was safe, and that was all that mattered.

“The fuck was that about?” Dean demanded, glancing over at him when he slid into the passenger seat. Sam just shrugged.

“I was just tying up a loose end,” he told him, ignoring the way Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Sam--” he didn’t give him a chance to get started. He would never stop, if he did.

“Don’t worry about it, Dean. It’s not a big deal, okay. It’s fine,” he cut over him, reaching over to squeeze his thigh reassuringly. Dean relaxed at the touch, like he’d just been waiting for Sam to reach out and he probably should have done it sooner -- Dean had always been tactile and they touched more than most people thought was normal.

Dean looked at him for a long moment, sighed. “You used your,” he gestured vaguely, and Sam guessed that meant ‘freaky demon powers’ in Dean-speak, “didn’t you?” His expression must have given him away because Dean growled, annoyed, and tensed up.

“I swear to God, Sammy, if he reports you, I’m going to kill him. You know that, right? I will rip his fucking throat out, and enjoy it,” he snapped, but Sam knew he was just worried.

“Dean--” he tried. Dean plowed right through his explanation, though, but that wasn’t any real surprise.

“No! What if they fucking felt you,” he gestured again. “You know the demons--”

“I know what I’m doing, Dean! I’m not twelve anymore, okay?” He didn’t mean to snap; made sure to drop his eyes when Dean’s cut over again, angry and practically radiating dominance. He sighed, turned to stare out the window, and wondered why they seemed to fall into arguments more often than not lately.

“What are you doin’ for down-time?” Dean’s voice, cutting through his thoughts, and the feel of his brother’s fingers tangling with his own surprised Sam into looking down. It was probably the closest thing to an apology he was going to get, and he smiled, sheepish. Dean rolled his eyes at him, but his grip on Sam’s hand tightened the slightest bit.

“Not stayin’ at HQ, that’s for sure,” he answered, making a face at the prospect. He hadn’t actively stayed there in years, preferring to find a motel somewhere close if Dean happened to be staying there, or heading to Bobby’s if Dean agreed to it. The way he shifted, guilty, and not, at the same time, made Sam sigh.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, shrugging a little. “Dad wanted my input on the training program, so I have to oversee it.”

That figured.

“Well, guess I’ll be at the motel, then. I’m doing check-in with Bobby, though; he’s supposed to be getting that new book in, and he wanted me to go over it with him,” he said, watching Dean’s eyes glaze over a little, and grinned. “Don’t worry, Dean. I promise I won’t bore you with the details.”

Dean shuddered over-dramatically, wrinkling his nose. “Thank God for that, at least,” he muttered, pulling out onto the highway and stepping on the gas. Sam cringed, didn’t look at the speedometer, and settled back against the seat as Dean pushed a tape in.

The sense of familiar safety washed over him as he closed his eyes. He lost himself in the feel of Dean’s presence, close, both of them still touching, and the first notes of ‘Born To Be Wild’ as they headed down the road. Dean crooned along to the song, tapping the fingers of his free hand against the wheel.

He began to drift off, Dean’s thumb rubbing circles over his wrist, and almost missed the quiet, “Get some sleep, Sammy. I’ve got this.”

“Know you do,” he murmured in response, sleep-slurred, and smiled as he settled against Dean, sure of his welcome, and relaxed.

Dean drove on, content with the warm, heavy weight of his brother against him and the lingering scents of Sammy, gun powder, leather, and home.

Comments

[angeblond.livejournal.com]

Hum feral!dean!! yummy
i love the all-alpha demeanor!

Great chapter, i'm hooked.