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Bark at the Moon
The night that Dean had been bitten, the Winchesters had been on a mundane salt and burn. Sneaking through the churchyard to find Miss Jasmine Henshawe’s grave and put her unquiet spirit to rest once and for all, Dean wished that the moon wasn’t quite so bright. It shone, a fat disc that would betray their presence to anyone who might be passing by—although at 3am, it was likely that they’d be fine.
They had finally located the grave in the far reaches of the old cemetery, and were aiming to do what needed to be done quickly and then leave the rundown town in the rear view mirror before morning. They hadn’t suspected the local church warden of being a werewolf, and Dean had been jumped as he bent to begin digging in the overgrown, weedy patch of ground that housed Jasmine’s grave.
The thing had sunk its teeth into Dean’s shoulder, and held on as though it was trying to take a chunk out of him. Finally, Sam had dispatched it with a silver knife, but the damage had already been done.
Dean Winchester had become the thing he hated. He was now a werewolf, or at least would become one very shortly.
There was nothing more to be done about Dean’s infection. After dousing the wound with holy water just in case, the brothers dealt with Jasmine’s remains, and then buried the church warden in the same grave.
As they high-tailed it out of the little town of Ten Sleep, Wyoming, Sam was already dialing Rowena with the faint hope that she’d have some kind of solution to their current problem.
~*~
The two of them had gathered all the ingredients for the potion that Rowena had described. All but one, which would need to be collected—wouldn’t you know it—under a full moon. That full moon was drawing inexorably closer day by day. Dean could already feel things changing inside him. The most obvious change was the new strength he was experiencing. Each day he seemed to grow stronger. He half wished that bitch demon Meg would show up, so he could dip his claws in holy water and tear her a new one, although he wasn’t quite sure that a demonic were would be fun to have around. He found himself fantasizing about devouring her heart, although again, the demon within would probably taint it.
Becoming a werewolf turned out to be a painful business. His very bones ached and it wasn’t even the full moon yet. God knew what the actual change would do to him. Most of the time, Dean hid the pain, but Sam could tell that he was hurting. He’d never really been able to hide from his little brother. Sam had to know as the time was drawing closer that Dean was having problems. His craving for blood was easy to slake for the time being with raw steak or the odd small animal, but it was growing stronger. That was going to be a problem.
As they made their way to Whitefish, Montana to Rufus’s old cabin, Dean was hoping that the basement there was going to be able to hold him while Sam got himself set up for the exorcism or whatever it was that he would have to perform on him. He had lively memories of Kevin saying it looked like a sex torture dungeon, because of the cage in there with the shackles and chains attached, a leftover from some long ago lycanthrope Rufus had trapped, but for now sex was the last thing on his mind. For a change, Sam was driving, while Dean pretended to sleep, wracked with anxieties that he didn’t even dare to put into words. He hoped that the cabin was far enough away from people that they could prepare for what was going to be an ordeal. They had to get the last ingredient, which needed to be harvested on the full moon. The same full moon where he would change. That scared the hell out of Dean. If something went wrong... if Sam couldn't secure him... Dean hated to think what would happen. And he prayed no hunters would find out.
Pulling off the main road, Sam pointed the Impala up the narrow gravel side road that led, first into the woods, and then finally to Rufus’s cabin. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he glanced over at Sam. "Rowena said the rowan and the wolfsbane are in the woods not far from the cabin. So..."
Sam smirked. "Not much longer, dude. Tomorrow, we'll be able to work on freeing you from the curse. It'll be kind of a relief not to have to keep feeding you milk bones all the time."
~*~
As the car climbed higher into the forest, they could suddenly see the cabin in a hollow below them. Sam could feel a vague headache coming on, and shivered. It had been a long time since he’d felt this—not since old Yellow Eyes had been killed in fact—but he remembered the signs. Any time now he'd be having a vision.
“Milkbones?” snorted Dean. "You should just put them in your back pocket. That way, I’ll have an excuse to bite your ass."
Sam finally drew up to the cabin and placed the car in park, then turned to Dean with a grin. "Does this remind you of those old Chainsaw Massacre movies or what?" He glanced over at Dean, who was making a face.
"What? My jokes aren't that bad?" Sam glanced back out the window then back at Dean, frowning as he studied his brother’s face.
The pain hit him with blinding intensity, and Dean, who was retrieving their bags from the trunk, finally realized that there might be a problem. "What? What is it?"
"I think..." Sam gasped as the pain hit, staggering back against the car and clutching at his temples. "Dean... can see... Shit! Don't, Dean!"
He said nothing more as the vision unfolded. He could see Dean—a much transformed Dean—frothing at the mouth as he hurtled through the undergrowth after something or someone that he couldn't quite see. As the vision ended, he could see Dean's paw, with nails like knives, sink into the fleeing someone's shoulder, and heard the scream of rage that emanated from Dean's throat as blood began to flow.
Dean ran around the car, reaching for his brother, just in time to lower him down to the ground. "Sammy," He crouched down with him. He stared into Sam’s eyes worriedly, and Sam wondered why he was suddenly having visions again after all this time. Azazel was long gone, put down with a bullet from the Colt, and he wondered if some other demon had somehow insinuated itself into him. If so, now was not a good time for it. "Sam?" Dean pressed his cheek to Sam’s, mumbling frantically. "Sammy?!"
Sam whimpered as his head pounded, and the vision slowly faded. "Dean, you're gonna change. You're gonna change, and we've got to make sure that you can't get out of the basement." He winced, recalling the vision he'd just experienced. "Can't let you hurt anyone else—or yourself. I just can't."
Dean brushed Sam's hair back, "It's okay, I'll be in the basement. Chain me to something down there if you have to. Tie me up, I don't care." He pulled Sam up, reaching around to grab the bag he’d dropped in his haste to reach him. Together they climbed up the stairs to the front door, hoping that the little cabin hadn’t been vandalized because it had stood empty. Dean shoved open the door with his foot, and helped Sam over to one of the dusty old chairs, then reached into one of their bags to retrieve a bottle of water. "Here you go. Drink this," he told his brother, petting him solicitously.
The water was very welcome, and Sam gave a contented sigh as he drank it down. The throbbing in his temples slowly faded as he sat and watched his brother. "Dean, my visions has always had something to do with the demon before, but all I saw was you. You feel okay? You think I should maybe get the holy water out to be certain?" He rose to his feet and went over to his duffel, rooting through it to find his small bottle of holy water. "Sorry, man," he whispered, and flicked some of the droplets at his brother.
Dean flinched and hissed, baring his teeth at Sam. "Sammy, I think you’d better put me in the basement right now while I'm still thinking straight."
"Let's go look," murmured Sam, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He really didn't want to see his brother chained up in a prison, even if it was a temporary solution, but if it would make his brother feel better, he guessed he would have to do it.
"This is just a ploy on your behalf to make sure that I don’t do the cooking, isn't it?" Dean asked as they went down the stairs to the room where Dean would be incarcerated for the next crucial hours.
"You sure you're ready for this, dude?" asked Sam, looking at the room and shuddering. There was a small steel cage which sported leg irons that were shackled to the bars that Rufus had once used on something feral. "I hate having to do it."
Dean followed Sam then stopped when he saw the cage. The bars appeared to be made of silver and Dean glanced at them resolutely and drew a breath, "You hate it? How do you think I feel?" He sauntered over, pulling his jacket off and tossing it aside in an unsuccessful attempt to appear unflustered. Sam knew he was terrified, but being Dean Winchester, he was refusing to show it.
"But hey," he smacked Sam's back, "Since you’re going to be doing all the cooking." He motioned for Sam to open the cage so he could step inside and look around. "Okay, shackle me. Make sure I’m locked up good and tight." He fixed his brother with a mute appeal.
"Dude, it stinks," agreed Sam, dropping to his knees to fasten the cuffs around Dean's ankles, making sure that the fabric of his brother's jeans was between him and the metal. "We're gonna get through this. You just wait and see."
The keys were hanging on the wall beside the cage, and Sam reached for them, making sure that his brother was fastened up tightly before locking the cage itself and putting them into his pocket. "I'll go and make dinner. Maybe if you have a steak or something for dinner, you won't want to chew people up."
~*~
Dean looked down as Sam secured him, the metal feeling all too heavy. He watched Sam as he left the cage, the click of the lock sounding very final as the door closed with a sonorous clang. Dean studied the bars for a few minutes, before pulling up an old wooden chair and sitting down to wait.
"Make mine rare, dude." Though at that moment he didn't feel like eating. He looked around himself, knowing that he was going to be incredibly bored, and hoping that would be the worst thing to happen. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but he could feel the pull of it, and just knew in his bones that it would soon be up. He could see out through a dirty half-window that there were clouds scudding across the slowly darkening sky. He rubbed at his eyes.
"Hey, Sammy? Think I can have a beer too?" He knew if Sam brought him one, it would be in a plastic cup. They’d discussed this as they planned how to deal with their situation. He couldn’t possibly have a glass, or indeed anything that might become a weapon. No chance of harming anyone. Well, mostly he didn’t want to hurt Sam. It was just the two of them after all, or at least he hoped that was how it was going to be.
The sun was going down when Sam brought his food through to Dean—rare steak and potatoes with a salad on the side. He'd included a beer as requested, and the cutlery was plastic.
"Dean, I gotta ask you for your weapons, dude. Give them to me now, and you can have them back tomorrow, okay?"
Dean had been playing with his knife, bored while he was waiting for his meal. When he smelled the food, his mouth started to water, and he was up in a flash, waiting. Sam very wisely wasn't going to give him anything till he’d handed all his weapons over. He looked down at his knife then moved as close as he could to the bars and started sliding things out. "You know I'm gonna feel naked," he said.
“You can be as naked as you like once we’re through this,” said Sam waggling his eyebrows. “Never let it be said that I didn’t encourage you to let it all hang out!”
Nodding, Dean began to take taking everything he had out from pockets, boots, and sleeves. After considering for a further minute, he unfastened his belt and handed that over too, knowing he’d better not leave anything out. There was soon a pile of murderous implements outside the cage.
Dean held his hands out for the food, taking the plates and dropping down like a little kid, cross-legged. His steak had already been pre-sliced, and he tore into one of the strips, smiling up at Sam. "Dude, this is really good."
"You know it! Much tastier than my skinny ass!" Sam smiled back, but there was pain in his eyes as he collected Dean's arsenal of weapons and took them away. Dean knew Sam was just as scared as he was, and terrified of the way they both knew he would change when the moon rose. "I'm not going to watch it happen, dude. I don't want to see you change." He shivered, probably remembering the vision that he'd had. Dean was firmly fastened, not to mention locked in a cage. There was no way that he would be able to escape his confines.
Sam hung the keys on a handy nail by the door and took the Dean’s weapons upstairs to put them safely out of his reach. The sun was setting, and soon the moon would rise. Dean knew Sam intended to be gathering wolfsbane at the stroke of midnight, and the time couldn’t pass quickly enough for either of them. Dean heard Sam rustling around upstairs and then making his way out of the cabin. It was far too early, but Sam probably wanted to find the plants he needed before it was fully dark.
Dean ate voraciously, tearing at the meat as if he was starving. When his plate was empty of even the tiniest scrap of nourishment, he shoved it out of the cage, and then sat looking around, but unable to see anything he could use to pass the time. Time dragged by, and his apprehension began to grow exponentially as the tiny sliver of sky he could see through the window darkened and the first star appeared.
He winced, gripping his stomach as he felt agonizing pain stab through him. He could feel things beginning to change within his body. His fingers stung, and when he looked down at his hand, he could see the nails growing, lengthening as hair sprouted from the back. He felt a jolt of panic run through him, and he reached to ground himself by touching the bars, only to be burned. He jerked his hand back, breathing hard as he looked at the burn—the final proof that he was in fact a werewolf.
"Oh shit," he breathed.
~~~~
The moon was riding high in the sky, and Dean was mindlessly snarling and banging his head on the floor when he suddenly froze. Someone was upstairs. They were pushing the door open, and whoever it might be, it was not Sam. He sniffed the air, and suddenly realized with a sinking heart that he knew exactly who it was.
He heard the cabin door creak, and footsteps on the boards above. It seemed that Meg knew just where to go, and in a few moments, she was standing by Dean's cage, smiling at him through the bars. "Hello Dean? Nice doggie. You want to go walkies?"
Dean jerked his head up and snarled. "How did you know I was here?"
He moved as close to the bars as he could without actually touching them, and glared at her. His longing to tear her to pieces was betrayed by the clenching and flexing of his fists, but otherwise he managed to remain calm as he studied her.
"More importantly..." Dean winced in pain, backing up as he held his ribs and stomach, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I've come to help you." She stretched her slender torso so that her breasts bobbed invitingly in the skimpy top she was wearing. Her eyes floated the familiar oily black shine to them, and she lifted a finger to trail it down over her body suggestively. "You'll hurt yourself, locked up in that cage. We can't have you hurting yourself, now, Dean, can we? Besides, your brother is out there somewhere, and I'm sure you'd love to go and... play with him... give him the attention he deserves."
"NO!" Dean snarled. "I won't hurt my brother," he growled as pain shot down his spine again and moved back a little. He could hear her heart beating as he glared at her, and his jaw ached as he felt what seemed like a thousand sharp teeth erupt through into his mouth. Crazily, he wondered if werewolves ever bit their own tongues. "You on the other hand," he said, moving closer to the bars once again, his hand reaching out toward her. "I could really use a little more iron in my diet."
Laughing, Meg remained a fraction of an inch out of his reach. "You would bite off more than you can chew, Dean, darling." She turned gracefully and went out of the room, returning a few moments later with a chair. "At the moment, you are still thinking a little like Dean, you poor darling, but soon, as the moon rises, the hunger will take over, and then you'll hunt. You think you have the strength of will to stop yourself eating baby brother, don't you, but you won't. By the time I set you free, all you'll be thinking is 'kill, kill', and I will watch you do it. Won't that be fun?"
She took a seat on the chair she'd brought and tilted her head to one side as she watched him. "You were always so pretty, Dean. You're starting to lose your beauty now. Fairly soon, you're going to be just another dog. Maybe I'll let you fuck me, would you like that?"
Dean snarled at her. "Would suit you, since you are such a bitch." He turned his back, the chains around his ankles feeling all too heavy at the moment. Sinking down into a crouch before sitting, he closed his eyes, hoping to heaven that if he ignored her she would quit annoying him and go away. The moon was higher now, silver light bathing him as they streamed through the window. He gasped against the pain, clenching his teeth and panting through the agony. He was well on the way to being fully transformed. The pain was immense as bones stretched and shifted, skin split and his body twisted. He pulled at the chains that had tangled around him, and even burns from the silver of Rufus’s werewolf trap no longer worried him as he tried to get at Meg.
She sat elegantly crossing one leg over the other, filing her nails and smiling, occasionally glancing up to laugh out loud at his yelps of pain. It was almost midnight when she rose to her feet and reached for the key, then crossed over to unlock the door of the cage. "You'll be free in a few more moments, baby," she murmured, tossing the keys down to where Dean would be able to reach them. Turning, she left the room and a moment later she was standing outside the cabin, watching for Dean's appearance.
Dean couldn't stop her from unlocking the cage or swinging the door open. He was in a great deal of pain. He could feel bones moving, crunching, shifting. He screamed out in pain as the transformation finally took full effect. His clothing started to tear, and Dean cried out, his yell ending in a howl of anguish as he broke the chain that was holding him and charged out of the cage. He tore the door from its frame and raced outside to finally stand directly under the moon, sniffing the air.
A scent hit him, and as much as he tried to resist it, he knew exactly what it was, and he knew where to get it. He sniffed again before his eyes locked onto Meg’s hiding place. The corner of his lip rose in a snarl, and he stalked towards her.
"Well, hello again," said Meg, striking a pose as she watched him. "Why, grandmama, what a biiiig dick you have."
Turning, she began to jog towards the place where she knew that Sam was waiting for midnight to gather his herbs, knowing that it would draw Dean after her.
Dean let out a low growl then tore off after her, and just like in Sam's vision, he reached for her, his long clawed hand catching at her shoulder. Raking his claws down the length of her, he seized her and threw her down then turned on her as he growled low in his chest, his teeth showing.
Meg laughed as his claws drew blood, laughed again and put a hand up to gather some of it and smear Dean's lips, then licked her own fingers. "These meat suits are delicious. I hope you enjoy it in every way, my friend, and that you remember it forever." She pulled up her skirt, revealing that she was naked beneath it. "Like what you see?"
Dean licked at the blood on his mouth and snarled. This was somehow wrong. She was not what he wanted at all. She was tainted. His gorge rose, and he vomited briefly, then threw back his head and howled.
“Oh, come on, Deano! Don’t you want to play with little old me?” crooned Meg, reaching to sink her fingers into the thick fur which had grown out around his shoulders. Swiping at her, he delivered a blow that sent her flying and turned away, unsure what was calling to him, but knowing instinctively that it was not her.
At that moment, he caught sight of the full moon. As the final changes seized his body and bent his back, he howled out rage and despair at it, at this bloated, silvery thing that drew him and made him want so much.
The change was complete. Meg, seemingly aware now that he wasn’t going to dance to her tune, watched Dean in fascination as he finally dropped to his four paws and completed his transformation into a wolf.
He didn’t waste any further time on her, knowing somehow instinctively that she had no further ability to harm him. The light from the fat moon above was his prompt as he bounded forwards into the woods in search of something, although he didn’t know what.
Dean heard movement in his wolf form and stopped, his head turning in the direction of the irritation. Letting out a low growl, he headed toward the source. There! There it was. He could make out the figure of a man! How dare a man invade his territory? How dare such a puny creature insult him in this way. He slunk towards this outrageous presence, teeth bared. He would show this upstart creature that he had overstepped his boundaries.
~*~
Sam heard him coming, of course, and knew that he would have to do something fast, but for the life of him he didn't know what. His weapons were useless, because he didn't want to kill his brother. Maybe if he threw some of the wolfsbane he’d collected at him it would stop his rampage, or probably not. As Dean raced into view, Sam felt his insides run cold.
"Dean?" he called, wondering if his voice would get through to the man trapped inside the wolf. He still held the silver athame he’d used to harvest the wolfsbane, but he wouldn't use it—couldn't—not on Dean. Looking around himself swiftly, he made a snap decision and climbed the tree that was closest to him, barely managing to get up out of reach before Dean arrived, snarling and slavering. "Oh, God, Dean... Dean, I swear I will cure you. Just hang in and I'll cure you."
Dean had caught at Sam's pant leg and ripped off enough of the fabric that his first mission the next time they were close to a thrift store would be to buy himself a new pair, but those needle-sharp teeth hadn't broken his skin, for which he was incredibly grateful. Sam watched his brother, who was growling and snarling, jumping up at the tree to try and get to Sam. He got into a routine, pacing around and around the tree. At times his claws cut into the bark of it as he snapped and growled and tried to get to his quarry, and the moonlight glittered off his teeth and, much to Sam’s horror, illuminated the spattering of Meg’s blood on his face. He wondered who had helped Dean escape his bonds. He was afraid of whose blood that might be and what Dean would feel once he came back to his senses.
Time passed. Sam resigned himself to spending the night in the tree, while Dean snarled and ravened below him, sometimes jumping up to try and get to him and the rest of the time prowling around, howling and scrabbling at the tree itself.
After a while, Sam dozed, hoping that the moon would go down before he fell out of the tree.
~*~
Dean woke to find himself lying in wet undergrowth. He felt sticky, covered in scratches, and he was sure that he was naked, because he was freezing his balls off. His mouth tasted as if someone or something had died in it, and he ached all over. When he opened his eyes slowly, he saw a bug crawl past him. He blinked again and raised his hand, seeing blood on his fingers and caked under his nails. Rolling onto his back, he could see the open sky. He wasn't in the cage.
"Oh, god," he breathed. "Sammy?" He pushed himself up with a groan.
"Dean?" There was a sudden scrabbling in the tree above him as Sam jerked awake and almost put out one of his eyes on a broken branch beside his face. "Dean, are you okay?"
“Sammy?” croaked Dean. “Where are you? You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good, I think. One of my legs has gone to sleep,” he said and moaned softly as he tried to massage the limb back to life.
Dean watched as Sam slowly unfurled his long legs and climbed down out of the tree. His duffel containing his equipment and the precious herbs he'd gathered were slung over his shoulder. At the foot of the tree, he bent to gather up his athame, which he had apparently dropped in his haste to climb up the tree and escape Dean's jaws.
"Dude, you're bleeding,” he said, surveying his blood-streaked brother. “Come on back to the cabin and get a shower, and then we'll mix this potion and put an end to this whole, sorry business."
"How did I get out here?" He looked at Sam, half scared. "How did I get out?" He looked down at his hands, his body, dried blood everywhere. "I... I don't think this is my blood." He hung his head
"Well, it isn't mine, dude," said Sam, frowning. "Don't you remember anything?" He grabbed Dean's hand and started to lead him back through the woods towards the cabin. "I want to get started on that potion as soon as possible, so that if you need more than one dose we've got the chance of that." A short way from the path that led to the cabin, they saw the shirt Dean had been wearing lying on the ground, ripped in places and stained with blood. "Sure won't be any good to you now," he said, collecting it to take with him. “Kinda like my jeans.” He flashed his ripped up pants to Dean, who shuddered. He’d done that, he could tell, but he couldn’t remember.
Dean should feel weird walking around nude but he was to busy trying to remember. "It's all a... I don't know, Sammy. Bits and pieces. Sam," Dean stopped, "Sam, someone else was there?" Dean grabbed his shoulder.
~*~
"Who else, bro?" Sam turned back to look at his troubled brother. "Dude, we're in the middle of nowhere. Who would be here?" He grabbed Dean's forearms. "You remember something? You remember how you got out of the cage?"
Sam saw Dean looking past him and turned back to see the rest of Dean’s clothes along with scraps of a glittery fabric he knew without a doubt his brother hadn’t been wearing.
"Meg," Dean breathed. He turned pale as he looked at Sam. "I... I don't know how she got here but she was..." He pushed Sam aside and started towards the pile of ripped and bloody fabric, slowing when he got close.
"Meg?" Sam frowned. He'd met Meg, of course, knew her intimately and had almost
killed Dean because of her. He knew well enough what she was.
"Meg!" Dean turned to Sam. "A demon? Of course!" He turned even paler and Sam wondered what memories were going through his brother’s head. "I... I attacked her. She... I might have killed that girl she was in. I..." He looked down at the blood that streaked him and feebly tried to wipe it off. "Oh god, Sammy, she was trying to get me to kill you." He looked up at him. "You... you have to kill me."
"Dean, listen to me. You didn't kill that girl. I don’t see any bodies around. Do you? If she’s dead, then the demon that was driving her killed her. It knew exactly what would happen if it set you free, and it banked on you doing what you did. It tried very hard to get you to kill me, too, but we got past that." Sam felt sick with worry. If Dean gave up the fight now, then he would do so too. The time for going after a normal, safe life was long gone, and he knew that he couldn't go on without his brother at his side.
"She’s not the one standing there with her blood all over her. She’s not the one with blood all around her mouth. Look at me!" He shook his head, "Sam, I tried to kill you. What is going to happen tonight?" Dean looked away from Sam, misery and worry written all over him. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"We'll face tonight when we get to it, man. I'm gonna start on that potion as soon as we get you clean and dressed, and hopefully you'll be yourself again, but we'll put you in the cage again, just to be sure, and I won't be gone. I think I'll put a devil's trap at the door, too." Sam really hoped Dean would be able to accept that, but after looking at his horrified face, Sam stopped talking and just pulled Dean into a rough hug. "C'mere, precious little soldier," he said, trying to make Dean laugh.
Dean succumbed for a moment before pushing Sam away. His machismo reasserted itself and Sam watched his brother force all traces of vulnerability away. "Come on! I’ll get clean, and you can get me a beer.” He began to climb the stairs up to the cabin. “Oh, I think I broke that chain... and the door. God, what a mess. I guess we'll... take care of it all later?"
He stood in the doorway of the cabin, apparently looking around for any further signs that he’d killed anyone. Sam followed him and wrapped a long arm around Dean's shoulders, leading him away from the tattered clothing that lay there on the soft earth. "Once you're clean and dressed, and we've done the potion, we’ll set about fixing anything you broke."
He led Dean into the cottage and sent him to get clean. "I'll have a beer for you once you're dressed, dude."
~*~
Dean paused at the door to the bathroom and turned to look back at his brother, sure that Sam could see all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to say in his eyes. Finally, he clambered into the shower and went about washing the blood away. He stayed under the hot water, brooding, for a long time. He’d killed an innocent girl, he just knew it. He’d taken lives before, but there was something about what Meg had tried to do to him that made his stomach revolt. He wanted to break down at the horror of the things he thought he’d done previous night and wondered when Sam would give up and put a silver bullet in him. He just hoped that it would be soon.
After a while, once he was sure that soapy water could be used as the excuse for his eyes being red, he dried off and came out with a towel wrapped around him to find Sam. "Got any clothing?"
"I put some sweats out for you, dude," said Sam, holding out the promised beer for his brother. Hurry up and get dressed, I'm going to need you for this potion thing—it requires both your blood and mine to make it work." He bumped Dean with his hip and gave him a smile. "Chin up, little soldier; you're still too precious for this world."
Dean reached to take the beer from Sam and took a long pull. the taste of blood was still in his mouth even after he had brushed his teeth. It dawned on him that it wasn’t going to go away any time soon. Finally he shrugged and went to make himself decent, pulling on the sweats without bothering with underwear. Returning to Sam, who was poring over Rowena’s instructions, he moved over to peer at it over Sam’s shoulder. He gave Sam a somewhat unconvincing smile, then slid his hand around behind Sam's head, pulling him down and kissing that smile from his face. "What would I do without you?" He asked and kissed him again, caressing his hand over Sam’s neck before pulling away.
"Okay, what do we need to do, besides caging me up?" He fingered some of the things they’d assembled and frowned at them. Mostly they appeared to be dried up crumbly things, leaves, and a pile of little purple flowers that were beginning to grow limp.
"We need to get this potion together." Sam collected it all together and dumped it in a heap on the kitchen table. "Gonna need some of your blood, dude, when the time comes. Use a silver knife, okay?"
"Okay, okay, I get the blood part," Dean moved away, looking down into the basement, where the cage had failed to keep him secured. "I broke the shackle for my leg, dude," he murmured as he descended the stairs to look at it. He didn’t touch the bars. "She opened the door. She made sure I could reach the keys to get out. She wanted..." He choked, and then with a sigh he stepped into the cage and grabbed hold of the bars despite the fact that his hands were burning. The door swung shut as if it knew where he should be. He was tempted to leave his hands there in atonement for the dreadful things he had done, but when Sam came down to see what was going on, he pulled them away and gazed sadly at his brother.
"Hey, Sammy, ever have cage sex?" Dean tried to joke as he banged his fingers against the bars.
"Not yet," laughed Sam. "But I foresee it in my future. Okay, first the potion and then the cage sex, once you're cured." He studied the paper with the recipe on it, and then nodded, making his way back up to Rufus’s tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, Dean followed him.
"Okay, one silver chalice, as clean as I can get it." The chalice did indeed gleam in the morning sunlight. "I said a prayer or two over it, blessed it with holy water, and it seems fine. Let's see, what's next? Pour the wine into the chalice..." Sam took the cork out of Missouri's wine bottle and did as the recipe said. "Next, the blood of the afflicted must be poured into the wine," he murmured. "You'll have to give me your hand, dude."
Dean watched as Sam deftly mixed things as the recipe called for them. He scratched at the back of his neck. "I think I have fleas," he announced. Then he extended his hand, "Try not to leave a scar, dude," he muttered, giving Sam a quick smile.
Sam dunked his athame into the flask of holy water and reached for Dean's wrist. A quick nick on the inside of his brother's wrist sent blood dripping into the wine where it seemed to vanish into the ruby red alcohol.
"Now me, I guess," said Sam, after a moment. He slashed at his own hand and allowed the blood to mingle with Dean's in the cup that he was using to build the potion.
Sam set the goblet back onto the table and reached for the gauze, arnica, and a band-aid, sauntering over to Dean to anoint his booboo. "Here, dude. Want me to kiss it better for you?"
Dean had hissed a bit when Sam cut him but now he pulled his hand back, licking at his wrist. It wasn't till Sam came back that he moved away, putting the afflicted hand behind his back.
"No, don't come too close, Sammy. Your blood... Just set those down, I'll get them." He looked at his brother with pleading eyes. The smell of the blood was all to tempting. Dean trembled. He knew that he was not cured yet, even if he would be later.
Nodding, Sam set the bandages down where Dean would be able to reach them and turned back to his potion. Swiftly adding the three potions that he'd gotten from Rowena, he stirred it with the sprig of wolfsbane that he'd cut the night before, and dropped it into the chalice.
Finally, Sam took a small ziploc bag that contained powdered silver and tipped the contents into the cup, giving it a good stir.
Dean wasn't quite sure what happened to the liquid in the cup, but it began to change as Sam stirred the silver in, losing its deep red coloring and turning milky white with faint, opalescent glints within it. Sam blinked at it, then shrugged his shoulders. "Dude, I'm not sure how, but I think it's going to work. Check it out."
Carefully carrying it over to Dean he held it out. "Down the hatch," he said, grinning. "Your next move is to drink this shit."
Dean looked it over then carefully moved over toward it. His wrist was bandaged up now and he was now feeling suddenly scared. He looked up to his brother then looked back to the cup. He peeked in giving it a sniff before wrinkling his nose. He then cautiously reached for the cup and the moment his fingers touched it, they began to burn. He pulled his hand away quickly, looking at them before drawing another breath. "Okay, I can do this." He rolled his shoulders and then cracked his neck before he grabbed the cup and drank the potion down quickly.
The thing about it was, it burned. A lot. Dean dropped the cup and started coughing. It was burning him from the inside out. Doubling over in pain, he fell to the ground. The pain was almost unbearable, and he gasped, then cried out. At last, he began to scream out his pain, rolling on the floor as attempted to find a position—any position that might ease it. At last, he gasped for air once and then just lay there.
~*~
As Dean collapsed, Sam, who was watching him carefully, gasped, gave a cry and dropped everything in his desperate haste to help his brother. "Dean? Oh, God, Dean!"
His hands were shaking, and he dropped to his knees beside Dean. Dean appeared to have stopped breathing and lay still and waxy on the floor, his freckles standing out on the pale flesh of his cheeks.
"Noooo!" Sam's wail was from the very bottom of his heart. Dean was dead, and it was all over. No way could he go on living without Dean, not now. He bent to kiss the soft lips, a tear dropping onto Dean's cheek. "I can't do it without you, dude. I can't. I won't."
~*~
Dean could feel rain dropping gently onto his cheek. He seemed to be back out there in the woods, and the ground was cold where he was lying. He felt a hand touch his cheek.
"Dean." The voice, when it finally came, sounded hoarse but loving. There was another gentle caress, this time on his shoulder. "My beautiful boy,"
Dean blinked as he opened his eyes. The figure over him was shadowed, marred by darkness. He blinked again, "Don't give up, Dean. He needs you."
Blinking again, Dean started to push himself up from the sodden ground. "Dad?" He reached out to touch his father. "Dad? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me," John spoke softly.
"I... " Dean started to speak.
"Shh," John helped Dean rise to his feet.
"Dad, you okay? They told me..."
"Dean, you have to go back to Sammy. He needs you," Dean swayed, and John slid an arm around him to hold him in place.
"Dad... I can't..." Dean was gripping John.
"I know, and I'm sorry. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. I love you. I love you both, more than anything. Please, Dean, protect him. Save him." John pulled Dean close and hugged him.
Swallowing down tears, Dean clung to his father. After a while, he patted John’s back and let him go. As he released his grip on his father, John faded as if he’d never been there and was gone.
Dean turned and saw the cabin there in the distance and ran over to it, rushing inside to see Sam crouching over him, crying. He didn't have a clue how long it had been since he’d drunk the infernal potion. He had no clue how much time had passed. Rowena had said the potion would take a while to work, but he could see his own body, cold, pale, lifeless. He looked about for a reaper and didn't see one so he quickly rushed over. He stopped at Sam, bending over to brush his lips over his brother's ear. "I love you, Sammy. I'm not ever going to leave you. Ever."
~*~
For Sam, it seemed that his whole world had ended. His adored big brother, who'd been the only constant in his life since before he could even remember, was dead, and now all he could do was follow him.
"It won't be so bad," he said aloud, fumbling for the knife he kept hidden in his boot. For a moment, he thought that he could feel Dean pressing his lips to his ear, almost thought he could hear him whisper, "Sammy," and then the presence faded, leaving Sam alone again. He choked back a sob. His hand was already curled around his knife, when Dean suddenly seemed to explode back to life, shaking and gasping as he drew breath.
Dean! He was alive, or at least Sam hoped it was Dean animating the beloved body. Swiftly reaching for the silver amulet that Bobby had given them for protection, Sam laid it onto Dean's bare chest and leant in to whisper, "Christo."
Dean curled his hand around the back of Sam's neck and pulled him down to him, "Bitch." He slapped Sam weakly, then Tried to get up off the ground and failed, arms and legs trembling. "Get me off the floor, it's cold." He started again to try and sit up, pulling at Sam as he did. "And what’s with the Christo?" he asked.
"M..making sure that it's... it's you, and not something that decided to wear your body." Sam pulled Dean into his arms, cradling him in his lap and trying to keep the tears from coursing down his face. "Gods, Dean, you have no idea how close I was to slitting my own throat. Another minute, and I'd have been done for..." He kissed the top of Dean's head. "But it worked. Lookit!" He laid the flat of his silver knife blade against the back of Dean's hand, waiting for the flinch, but none came. "You're cured. Check it out."
~*~
Dean closed his eyes, resting his head against Sam's chest and hearing his strong heartbeat. The sensation of relief he felt at that moment flooded through him like a strong drink, leaving him limp.
"Yeah, it worked," he said in tones of wonder. He looked up to Sam then kissed his neck. Sam finally helped him back onto his feet and over to his bed, his legs barely moving as Sam half dragged him across the room to lie him down on it. Shock hit him suddenly, and he moaned as his belly suddenly objected to the sudden movement. "Dude, I feel sick to my stomach. Can you get me a bucket?"
Sam nodded, settled Dean down on the bed, and ran for a suitable receptacle to give him. He returned with the goblet that had contained the potion, grinning. Dean smiled back at him, also struck by the irony of throwing up the potion he'd so recently drunk straight back into the same vessel.
"Here you go, dude. It's the best I can offer, given that there's no bucket handy." Sam went off into the kitchen again, returning with a damp cloth and a bottle of water for Dean, then settled down beside him. Dean could see that his brother was running on empty, and he couldn’t be surprised at that, since he knew that Sam had spent the night up in a tree, probably terrified of what would happen if he fell out before the dawn came. He was amazed that Sam hadn’t run for the hills, instead he was now most likely telling himself that he couldn't sleep yet, because he had to make sure Dean would be okay. He knew that he would never be able to make it up to Sam.
He set the goblet down on the small wooden table and when Sam settled next to him, Dean leaned against him, gratefully. He took the water bottle and drank from it, small sips. "I... don't want to go through that again." He gave a heavy but contented sigh and snuggled against Sam’s shoulder.
"That's it for lycanthropes of any kind," murmured Sam, rubbing Dean's shoulders and kissing the back of his neck. "What you need is sleep. It's what I need too. My heart isn't strong enough to stand the kind of shock I've had today. Dude, I thought I'd lost you. I never want to see you looking like that again. Three times is three too many. Most people only die once."
Dean took another sip of the water then set the bottle down before shifting and turning into his brother, cuddling up to him. "I should be dead." He held Sam tightly to him. "Guess you are no longer the only freak in this family." He reached up, dragging his hand over Sam's face, "You should get some sleep, Sammy."
Dean shook his head. God, he felt like he had a cold! Used to the heightened senses he’d enjoyed during his brief time as a werewolf, he now felt as if he was clogged up, although he knew that realistically this was not the case. All his senses were dull now, the sense of smell barely there, his vision less acute, and his hearing so muted that he wanted to cry. Still at least now he wasn’t likely to start chowing down on his beloved brother. That was a bonus. Most importantly, he was normal again, whatever that might entail.
It felt wonderful to be back in Sam's arms, to know that Sammy had saved him, at least for now. Dean laughed softly and nudged his brother. "I never was the only freak in the family, freak! You got the amazing demonic predictions, but I got all the charisma!”
“Yeah. You did, you big, bambi-eyed girl!" snickered Sam and then yawned until his jaw cracked.
Dean snickered as he snuggled in against Sam's warmth, happy at last to be back where he needed to be.