Night Prowler
Night Prowler
Total Wordcount: 3996
Rating: PG13 for language, allusions to sex *shrugs*
Pairing: Dean/Shylah (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Or the song that makes an appearance (Night Prowler: AC/DC), or the chapter titles…seeing as I pulled those from songs too (Of Wolf & Man: Metallica; Free Falling: Tom Petty; Night Prowler: AC/DC). I do however own Shylah and her world. Puckett, Mississippi is a real place, that is their population and their sign does say that, or something like that…it’s been a while since I’ve been up there. D’Lo and Mendenhall are real too, and Mendenhall’s bank was in a trailer…they’ve since upgraded ;)
Summary: Honest to god werewolf. And the Winchesters go to kill it. But Dean finds himself falling, in more ways than one...I suck at summaries
Chapter 1: Of Wolf & Man
Chapter Wordcount: 1109
When someone dies in a small town, everybody’s affected. It’s just the nature of a small town.
Especially in the south.
There are entire families that have lived for generations in the same county, same town. Everyone knows everybody, if they’re not related to begin with. So when someone dies, the whole town mourns. Hell, sometimes they even name something after them. But when someone’s murdered…the whole town reacts. And right or wrong that town normally likes to take care of things their own way.
Unfortunately for Puckett, Mississippi, population some 350 odd people, “and a few sour old folks,” so proclaimed by their town sign, more than just a murder had occurred. Eight murders had, and despite everyone knowing each other, there were no leads. No fingerprints, no DNA, no weapons. Just eight dead bodies.
Oh yea, all with their hearts missing.
Shylah threw down the most recent newspaper with a sigh. Frowning at the picture of the local nurse that had just joined the body count. She tossed some money on the shiny linoleum counter and left the town’s café/firehouse/tire and mechanic’s shop/bait and tackle shop/gas and corner store.
Oh yea, that’s how small this town was. Their bank was in a doublewide for god’s sake.
She passed Harvey, the local firefighter/cattle rancher/chicken farmer/school bus driver and waved hello as she headed the one-mile home to her family’s old ranch house.
She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she knew what was causing these murders. Murders of people she had grown up with. She hadn’t believed herself at first either, but there was just no other possible explanation. Ha, possible. What she was thinking should be IMpossible.
She pulled off her jean jacket and tossed it over the old olive green and sunflower yellow vinyl dining room chair and smacked open the screen door to the back porch.
Sitting down at her workbench she sighed and struck a match, dropping it into a small fire pit, settling an old cast iron pot over the flames. She watched the fire grow, a frown over her features as she committed herself to the act.
She opened a backpack on the table and pulled out a candelabra, some silverware and even a necklace. Tossing them into the pot and waited for the metal to melt.
“Werewolves?”
“Werewolf. And yea.”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just an honest to god werewolf. I mean, they were dying out back when dad took us to hunt that one in Montana back in,” Dean snapped his fingers, drawing a blank.
“’93.”
“Yea, ’93.”
“Yea, I know,” Sam said, shuffling his papers around with his patented Sam Winchester frown, furrowed brow and troubled sigh.
“Well at least we know how to kill it.”
“Yup, silver bullet to the heart. Thank god for accurate folklore.”
Dean chuckled, “Yea, alright. So where is this thing again?”
“Puckett, Mississippi.”
“Puckett?”
“Yea,” he sighed again.
Dean groaned. “What?”
“Well, it’s a small town.”
“So.”
“So, they probably all know each other. And they’re probably not going to like a couple of shady looking guys hanging around.”
“Yea, specially once one of their fine upstanding citizens goes missing.”
Sam glared at Dean.
“What?”
Sam shook his head.
“Yea, yea, alright…so where is this Puckett?”
“A couple hours south of Jackson.”
“Well alright,” Dean grinned, grabbing his jacket, “We’re going to Jackson.”
They actually stayed in Mendenhall, a town literally all of five minutes away from Puckett, but of at least 2000 more people, which made their visit look a little less conspicuous.
Their motel room walls weren’t covered with printouts and clippings this go round. Despite thousands of years worth of lycanthropy legend, it somehow managed to stay pure and never got muddled by misunderstandings and interpretations. They knew a silver bullet would kill it. Knew it would turn and strike again at the full moon.
They did have a local map taped to the wall, bright red pins pointing out where the bodies had all been found; all around the D’Lo water park.
Dean had gotten all excited, expecting water slides, pools and a virtual theme park full of bikini clad women. He was sorely disappointed when the place they found was nothing more than an overgrown stream where people went to swim and maybe canoe.
Sam just laughed at Dean’s defeated face and walked off into the woods.
About a half hour after scouting through the surrounding area they found some blood smeared across the ground.
“This is at least 500 yards from where any of the bodies were found,” Sam muttered.
“Hey, look at this,” Dean said, squatting down and plucking some hairs off a tree.
“Werewolf?”
Dean just shrugged.
Another 200 yards away they found some rock outcroppings that oh so conveniently created two separate caves, both containing more blood and fur.
“Well, looks like we know where to stake out,” Dean said, taking in the terrain, picking out the best spots to hide.
“We each take a cave?”
“Yea, that works,” Dean nodded.
She sighed as she shrugged on her jean jacket and double-checked the calendar on the wall, wishing she was wrong and tonight wasn’t the full moon. But of course, the black and white print never changed.
Ten minutes later her beat up old Chevy pickup went bounding out of her driveway. A .45 tucked in its driver’s waistband.
She stepped carefully, silently, gun aimed as she immersed herself in the darkness of the cave.
She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and spun. She was shocked when her sight aimed between to equally as shocked hazel eyes, aiming their own gun.
“Who are you?!” they both asked harshly.
She glared.
“Ladies first,” he grinned cockily.
She cocked her gun and his grin faltered a second.
“Dean.”
“Shylah.”
“Why are you here?” they both echoed again.
“Oh for the love of…” Dean said, holding up his hands in surrender and putting away his weapon.
“You first,” she ordered, still aiming at his pretty little head.
“I’m hunting.”
“With a pistol? I doubt it. Besides, it’s not hunting season.”
Dean sighed, aggravated. “I’m not exactly hunting deer.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Look, you need to leave.”
She glared harder. “Newsflash, this is my town, I’m not going anywhere, you’re the one that needs to leave. You’re in danger just being here.”
“Look sweetheart,” that earned another glare, “the only danger I’m in is from your itchy trigger finger. You don’t know what’s out here.”
She narrowed her eyes again, and he paused, seeing something pass across her face.
“What’s out here?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Next: Chapter Two
Total Wordcount: 3996
Rating: PG13 for language, allusions to sex *shrugs*
Pairing: Dean/Shylah (OFC)
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Or the song that makes an appearance (Night Prowler: AC/DC), or the chapter titles…seeing as I pulled those from songs too (Of Wolf & Man: Metallica; Free Falling: Tom Petty; Night Prowler: AC/DC). I do however own Shylah and her world. Puckett, Mississippi is a real place, that is their population and their sign does say that, or something like that…it’s been a while since I’ve been up there. D’Lo and Mendenhall are real too, and Mendenhall’s bank was in a trailer…they’ve since upgraded ;)
Summary: Honest to god werewolf. And the Winchesters go to kill it. But Dean finds himself falling, in more ways than one...I suck at summaries
Chapter 1: Of Wolf & Man
Chapter Wordcount: 1109
When someone dies in a small town, everybody’s affected. It’s just the nature of a small town.
Especially in the south.
There are entire families that have lived for generations in the same county, same town. Everyone knows everybody, if they’re not related to begin with. So when someone dies, the whole town mourns. Hell, sometimes they even name something after them. But when someone’s murdered…the whole town reacts. And right or wrong that town normally likes to take care of things their own way.
Unfortunately for Puckett, Mississippi, population some 350 odd people, “and a few sour old folks,” so proclaimed by their town sign, more than just a murder had occurred. Eight murders had, and despite everyone knowing each other, there were no leads. No fingerprints, no DNA, no weapons. Just eight dead bodies.
Oh yea, all with their hearts missing.
Shylah threw down the most recent newspaper with a sigh. Frowning at the picture of the local nurse that had just joined the body count. She tossed some money on the shiny linoleum counter and left the town’s café/firehouse/tire and mechanic’s shop/bait and tackle shop/gas and corner store.
Oh yea, that’s how small this town was. Their bank was in a doublewide for god’s sake.
She passed Harvey, the local firefighter/cattle rancher/chicken farmer/school bus driver and waved hello as she headed the one-mile home to her family’s old ranch house.
She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself that she knew what was causing these murders. Murders of people she had grown up with. She hadn’t believed herself at first either, but there was just no other possible explanation. Ha, possible. What she was thinking should be IMpossible.
She pulled off her jean jacket and tossed it over the old olive green and sunflower yellow vinyl dining room chair and smacked open the screen door to the back porch.
Sitting down at her workbench she sighed and struck a match, dropping it into a small fire pit, settling an old cast iron pot over the flames. She watched the fire grow, a frown over her features as she committed herself to the act.
She opened a backpack on the table and pulled out a candelabra, some silverware and even a necklace. Tossing them into the pot and waited for the metal to melt.
“Werewolves?”
“Werewolf. And yea.”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just an honest to god werewolf. I mean, they were dying out back when dad took us to hunt that one in Montana back in,” Dean snapped his fingers, drawing a blank.
“’93.”
“Yea, ’93.”
“Yea, I know,” Sam said, shuffling his papers around with his patented Sam Winchester frown, furrowed brow and troubled sigh.
“Well at least we know how to kill it.”
“Yup, silver bullet to the heart. Thank god for accurate folklore.”
Dean chuckled, “Yea, alright. So where is this thing again?”
“Puckett, Mississippi.”
“Puckett?”
“Yea,” he sighed again.
Dean groaned. “What?”
“Well, it’s a small town.”
“So.”
“So, they probably all know each other. And they’re probably not going to like a couple of shady looking guys hanging around.”
“Yea, specially once one of their fine upstanding citizens goes missing.”
Sam glared at Dean.
“What?”
Sam shook his head.
“Yea, yea, alright…so where is this Puckett?”
“A couple hours south of Jackson.”
“Well alright,” Dean grinned, grabbing his jacket, “We’re going to Jackson.”
They actually stayed in Mendenhall, a town literally all of five minutes away from Puckett, but of at least 2000 more people, which made their visit look a little less conspicuous.
Their motel room walls weren’t covered with printouts and clippings this go round. Despite thousands of years worth of lycanthropy legend, it somehow managed to stay pure and never got muddled by misunderstandings and interpretations. They knew a silver bullet would kill it. Knew it would turn and strike again at the full moon.
They did have a local map taped to the wall, bright red pins pointing out where the bodies had all been found; all around the D’Lo water park.
Dean had gotten all excited, expecting water slides, pools and a virtual theme park full of bikini clad women. He was sorely disappointed when the place they found was nothing more than an overgrown stream where people went to swim and maybe canoe.
Sam just laughed at Dean’s defeated face and walked off into the woods.
About a half hour after scouting through the surrounding area they found some blood smeared across the ground.
“This is at least 500 yards from where any of the bodies were found,” Sam muttered.
“Hey, look at this,” Dean said, squatting down and plucking some hairs off a tree.
“Werewolf?”
Dean just shrugged.
Another 200 yards away they found some rock outcroppings that oh so conveniently created two separate caves, both containing more blood and fur.
“Well, looks like we know where to stake out,” Dean said, taking in the terrain, picking out the best spots to hide.
“We each take a cave?”
“Yea, that works,” Dean nodded.
She sighed as she shrugged on her jean jacket and double-checked the calendar on the wall, wishing she was wrong and tonight wasn’t the full moon. But of course, the black and white print never changed.
Ten minutes later her beat up old Chevy pickup went bounding out of her driveway. A .45 tucked in its driver’s waistband.
She stepped carefully, silently, gun aimed as she immersed herself in the darkness of the cave.
She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and spun. She was shocked when her sight aimed between to equally as shocked hazel eyes, aiming their own gun.
“Who are you?!” they both asked harshly.
She glared.
“Ladies first,” he grinned cockily.
She cocked her gun and his grin faltered a second.
“Dean.”
“Shylah.”
“Why are you here?” they both echoed again.
“Oh for the love of…” Dean said, holding up his hands in surrender and putting away his weapon.
“You first,” she ordered, still aiming at his pretty little head.
“I’m hunting.”
“With a pistol? I doubt it. Besides, it’s not hunting season.”
Dean sighed, aggravated. “I’m not exactly hunting deer.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Look, you need to leave.”
She glared harder. “Newsflash, this is my town, I’m not going anywhere, you’re the one that needs to leave. You’re in danger just being here.”
“Look sweetheart,” that earned another glare, “the only danger I’m in is from your itchy trigger finger. You don’t know what’s out here.”
She narrowed her eyes again, and he paused, seeing something pass across her face.
“What’s out here?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Next: Chapter Two