"Even a Man Who is Pure in Heart" - PROLOGUE
Even a man who is pure in heart
and says his prayers by night,
may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms
and the Autumn moon is bright.
- The WolfMan (1941)
If you had asked Jensen Ackles two weeks ago if he believed in the supernatural, he would have scoffed at the question. He would informed you that monsters were the fodder of Hollywood, often used to spike sales in crappy horror movies and give young children nightmares. He would have told you that things like vampires and werewolves were ridiculous old-world superstitions that were created by barely-educated people attempting to explain things they didn’t understand and give their fears a physical manifestation.
He would have told you it was all hooey.
He would have … until he’d stumbled too far from the campgrounds in the dense woods of Washington state and gotten attacked by something he really couldn’t define.
Jensen had been camping with some acquaintances from work. Not friends. He wouldn’t call them friends. He didn’t really have any of those. Not since his entire life had been stripped cruelly away from him and scattered across the plains of Texas. Three hundred mile an hour winds bundled up in the form of a devastating F5 tornado. “The Hand of God” was what the one movie had called it. He’d always liked that movie … until it had become his life.
He had been away for the weekend. Some ridiculous get away that was an last ditch attempt to salvage the current relationship he was in. When he looked back on it after it all was said and done, he really wished he would have stayed and died with his family, instead of bowing to the whims of a woman he didn’t really even like anymore.
Instead he came home to a small town that had literally been wiped off the map. Home, hearth and family … all obliterated instantly. He’s not sure if he even wept at the discovery. It was too much like some surreal nightmare that had left him in a state of shock. So much so, that when his uncle had arrived from Dallas, Jensen had signed over power of attorney to the man, hopped into his truck with the few remaining belongings he’d had … and driven away.
He didn’t want to see anything. Not the remains of his childhood home, or his apartment, and most definitely not the bodies in the morgue that he had left his uncle the task of identifying. He didn’t want to plan a funeral, or buy caskets and plots of land, or lower his entire fucking family into the ground.
So he left. He ran away. Ended up running out of money in a sleepy little town just outside Seattle. It had a small university and a pretty laid-back population. He fell in love with it instantly. So he got a job at the local Starbucks (completely clichéd, but amusingly so) found a tiny apartment, sold his truck and bought a beat up old Harley Davidson.
It was the cowards way out, and he was sure that if he ever actually listened to any of his Uncle’s voicemails before he deleted them, that’s exactly what the remainder of his family would be telling him. This way, though … he could pretend. He could live his life and pretend that his family were still living theirs down in Texas. That they’d had a serious falling out of some kind, and were no longer on speaking terms, but they were still there. They were still alive.
And so, two years later all of that culminated into Jensen Ackles taking a camping trip with three other baristas from the coffee shop and stumbling away from the group to take a quick piss under the light of a full moon.
The timeline of events for the rest of the night were a bit muddled in his brain, but he knew one thing for certain … the thing that had stalked up to him in the blue haze of moonlight had not been ‘an ordinary timber wolf that had been startled by his presence.’ No matter what the park ranger said. Ordinary timber wolves did not walk on two massive hind paws bipedaly. They also weren’t the size of a brick-fucking-shithouse.
No… that thing… had fucking intelligence behind it’s glimmering silver eyes when it pinned Jensen to the ground and sank its inch long teeth into his shoulder. It had only growled and clamped down harder as he’d screamed and thrashed. It sure as hell wasn’t startled. And it sure has hell wasn’t a wolf. At least not a normal one.
So, yeah … two weeks ago, if you had asked Jensen about werewolves with any sort of serious intent, he likely would have laughed in your face. As it is now however, with a newly healed silvery scar of a bite on his shoulder and two weeks until the next full moon? Well … suffice to say, that Jensen Ackles would probably tell you that he was pretty sure that vampires didn’t sparkle … but he was deadly certain that werewolves stalked the night under the glow of the full moon.
and says his prayers by night,
may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms
and the Autumn moon is bright.
- The WolfMan (1941)
If you had asked Jensen Ackles two weeks ago if he believed in the supernatural, he would have scoffed at the question. He would informed you that monsters were the fodder of Hollywood, often used to spike sales in crappy horror movies and give young children nightmares. He would have told you that things like vampires and werewolves were ridiculous old-world superstitions that were created by barely-educated people attempting to explain things they didn’t understand and give their fears a physical manifestation.
He would have told you it was all hooey.
He would have … until he’d stumbled too far from the campgrounds in the dense woods of Washington state and gotten attacked by something he really couldn’t define.
Jensen had been camping with some acquaintances from work. Not friends. He wouldn’t call them friends. He didn’t really have any of those. Not since his entire life had been stripped cruelly away from him and scattered across the plains of Texas. Three hundred mile an hour winds bundled up in the form of a devastating F5 tornado. “The Hand of God” was what the one movie had called it. He’d always liked that movie … until it had become his life.
He had been away for the weekend. Some ridiculous get away that was an last ditch attempt to salvage the current relationship he was in. When he looked back on it after it all was said and done, he really wished he would have stayed and died with his family, instead of bowing to the whims of a woman he didn’t really even like anymore.
Instead he came home to a small town that had literally been wiped off the map. Home, hearth and family … all obliterated instantly. He’s not sure if he even wept at the discovery. It was too much like some surreal nightmare that had left him in a state of shock. So much so, that when his uncle had arrived from Dallas, Jensen had signed over power of attorney to the man, hopped into his truck with the few remaining belongings he’d had … and driven away.
He didn’t want to see anything. Not the remains of his childhood home, or his apartment, and most definitely not the bodies in the morgue that he had left his uncle the task of identifying. He didn’t want to plan a funeral, or buy caskets and plots of land, or lower his entire fucking family into the ground.
So he left. He ran away. Ended up running out of money in a sleepy little town just outside Seattle. It had a small university and a pretty laid-back population. He fell in love with it instantly. So he got a job at the local Starbucks (completely clichéd, but amusingly so) found a tiny apartment, sold his truck and bought a beat up old Harley Davidson.
It was the cowards way out, and he was sure that if he ever actually listened to any of his Uncle’s voicemails before he deleted them, that’s exactly what the remainder of his family would be telling him. This way, though … he could pretend. He could live his life and pretend that his family were still living theirs down in Texas. That they’d had a serious falling out of some kind, and were no longer on speaking terms, but they were still there. They were still alive.
And so, two years later all of that culminated into Jensen Ackles taking a camping trip with three other baristas from the coffee shop and stumbling away from the group to take a quick piss under the light of a full moon.
The timeline of events for the rest of the night were a bit muddled in his brain, but he knew one thing for certain … the thing that had stalked up to him in the blue haze of moonlight had not been ‘an ordinary timber wolf that had been startled by his presence.’ No matter what the park ranger said. Ordinary timber wolves did not walk on two massive hind paws bipedaly. They also weren’t the size of a brick-fucking-shithouse.
No… that thing… had fucking intelligence behind it’s glimmering silver eyes when it pinned Jensen to the ground and sank its inch long teeth into his shoulder. It had only growled and clamped down harder as he’d screamed and thrashed. It sure as hell wasn’t startled. And it sure has hell wasn’t a wolf. At least not a normal one.
So, yeah … two weeks ago, if you had asked Jensen about werewolves with any sort of serious intent, he likely would have laughed in your face. As it is now however, with a newly healed silvery scar of a bite on his shoulder and two weeks until the next full moon? Well … suffice to say, that Jensen Ackles would probably tell you that he was pretty sure that vampires didn’t sparkle … but he was deadly certain that werewolves stalked the night under the glow of the full moon.