If you could only see -- 06/?
The first sign of trouble is the fact that Sam breaks cover.
John is still scanning the path for signs of movement when suddenly his son’s shaggy form steps out of the bushes a few feet in front of him. For a moment Sam just stands there, in plain sight, sniffing at something on the ground. He’s making a show of moving slowly, pretending to be relaxed, but for John’s trained eyes he could as well have burst out of the undergrowth barking at the top of his lungs and attacking the first thing he sees. Sam is worried, so worried that he has decided to show himself to possible attackers, giving up any advantage of a surprise attack they might have had.
Over the years, Sam has perfected the art of showing one thing with his body but meaning something completely different. A wagging tail most people would interpret as a sign of welcoming strangers or affection towards his pack, John knows means “danger’ when Sam’s on the hunt. The faster it moves the more threatening it feels to him. Ears held to the side while staring off into the distance, seemingly uninterested in anything that might be happening around him, is Sam’s version of keeping an eye on the situation; while cowering on the floor next to John with his tail tucked in between his legs is not a sign of fear or obedience but a warning that Sam’s about to attack.
Body language is all Sam has in that form to communicate, and he is using it to the last hair on his bushy tail. Which, now that John is an expert at reading canines, makes for interesting observations and unintentionally funny or weird situations. John has no idea how Sam can keep his instincts under control and force his body to move one way when it’s obvious that he’d rather do the complete opposite, but somehow it works.
Suddenly Sam’s head comes up and he starts wagging furiously while staring down the path at something John can’t see yet. A soft, excited almost-bark is followed by a few ‘playful’ jumps down the way and that’s John cue to join the performance.
“Here, boy!”
He yells loud enough to be heard by anybody approaching them, and Sam turns at once. He starts running towards him, tail still wagging away a mile a minute and he gives another high, excited yelp before he bumps none too gently against John’s legs, perfecting his act of a well-trained dog by sitting down in front of John, staring up at him expectantly. This close, John can see that Sam’s whole body is trembling anxiously and he doesn’t quite manage to keep his hackles down. The wolf noses John’s hand nervously, another tell- tale sign he’s barely holding it together. He follows that with a low, choked-off whine a moment later. This is no longer Sam being worried, whatever is coming their way, whatever he’s sensing, it’s bad, Sam’s starting to panic.
Not good. This is supposed to be a scouting mission, they shouldn’t meet anyone.
John’s fingers close over the collar at Sam’s neck and he gives a light tug, the movement subtle but still carrying a meaning. Relax, calm down, keep it together. Sam tenses briefly against his leg, then drops his head, waiting, ears turned back at the path in front of John, tracking something.
When John looks up there’s the shape of a man in the distance. From what he can make out the stranger is about his height and roughly his weight and he’s walking toward them at a swift pace, only a few seconds later he’s already close enough for him to see individual features, dirty-blond hair, face set into a dangerous scowl that’s directed at him.
John remains where he is, hand still buried in the shaggy hair at Sam’s neck as he looks at the stranger, forcing his lips into what he hopes looks like a friendly grin.
The stranger stops a few feet away from him, gesturing at John and the forest behind him.
“This is private property, what the hell are you doing here?” He sounds pissed, ready to attack even, and John feels an answering growl rumble through Sam’s throat, though it never makes it across his lips. John tenses, hopes it doesn’t show and straightens, making a show of looking around, searching for something.
“I’m sorry, there was no sign or anything, I’m walking the dog…”
“Not on this land, get lost, now!”
Suddenly the man is moving, faster than anything John has ever seen, and he finds himself frozen for a second, can only watch detachedly how angry eyes suddenly flash and the human face twists into something alien, features twisted in a grimace of pure fury. John doesn’t really have words to describe how the man changes, but it batters through his defenses, strikes something hidden deep inside him, some kind of primal fear he didn’t know existed. Ancient, overwhelming terror surges through his veins, forcing him to shy back, even when some small part of his brain is screaming at him that he knows what this is, that this thing is only using some kind of magical spell to scare him.
It works, for a too long moment he feels himself back away from the creature in front of him, has to fight with all his willpower against the compulsion to just RUN. He knows the second he gives in, the moment he turns his back he will be lost, vulnerable.
Prey.
It’s his training, everything he’s ever seen, monsters and magic, his wife dying on the ceiling, his kid getting cursed by a witch, things no one should be forced to live through and yet he has and it breaks through the terror, allows him to not freak out and not lose it. It’s a close call, almost too close, but he makes it.
Sam isn’t as lucky. There’s a terrified whine next to him and Sam rips free of the grip John has on the collar. A flash of movement and the wolf takes off, tail tucked in between his legs, long body almost flying over the path in front of him. And then he’s gone.
John feels too shaken to call him back, it’s all he can do to remain standing and not follow him. He shakes his head and the shock lifts, gradually releasing his senses.
The vampire isn’t impressed, in fact he’s starting to look even more pissed than before and starts muttering to himself: “Boss said not to hunt tonight, but you’re begging for it. You should have run when you had the chance…”
John learns then that vampires do indeed have a second set of teeth when they are feeding, he has the chance to watch firsthand how they descend and the man in front of him is baring his many teeth at him in an angry snarl.
It was supposed to be a scouting mission- but that doesn’t mean that John didn’t come prepared. In one fluid motion he has his machete out, watching with a grin close to satisfaction how the vampire realizes his opponent knows how to fight. And how to kill it. Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to impress him, all that happens is another flash of the eyes, this time more a satisfied, almost playful smirk.
“This is gonna be fun.”
The problem, John realizes almost immediately, is that vampires, or this one in particular, are so fucking fast if they want to. You can barely do anything. The last of the man’s words is still hanging in the air when he is hit in the chest by what feels like a battering ram at top speed. For a second it feels as if his rib cage simply gives in under the pressure and he stumbles backwards, wheezing in what little air makes it past his burning ribs. It takes all his strength to bring up his weapon again, and while black spots threaten his vision he forces himself to ignore the pain of moving and brings it down on the vampire in a powerful stroke. He has the satisfaction of hearing the creature growl in annoyance, and he can’t fight back a grin when he sees it fall back a step. John immediately presses his advantage, following with another swing. Clearly the vampire hasn’t expected him to be able to move much after its initial attack, it doesn’t even try to dodge the blade, just stares at John as he runs the sharp sword through its shoulder.
John enjoys maybe a second of having the upper hand… then everything goes south. The vampire flips out, moves too fast for John to really follow what’s happening. He has enough time to sense it rushing at him and then he is thrown back as if he weighs nothing by a shove so powerful he can feel his bones reverberate from the force of it. He’s flying, his whole body clearing the muddy path. His flight is abruptly cut off as he slams into something unyielding. Something in his shoulder gives way, and he yelps… but the noise snaps short as the impact drives the air form his lungs and he loses track of reality for a moment.
When he comes back to himself black spots dance across the edges of his vision and moving his head hurts so bad he can taste bile at the back of his throat.A blurry shape appears in front of him, starts walking toward him, slowly, as if it has all the time in the world. Which, he realizes distantly, might even be true. He tries to focus then, growling in annoyance when he finds himself unable to focus his thoughts, it takes way too much energy to keep them together, to not let them fly away from him like the many colorful leaves all around him. The shadow bends down, reaches out for him and he groans, wants to roll his eyes at his pathetic weakness. Some hunter he is taken out of the game by a single-
The movement is so fast that even without his apparent concussion he wouldn’t have been able to track it. All he sees is a bright flash, barreling sideways into the shape in front of him, so fast, so hard his opponent is knocked off his feet and crashes to the ground, buried beneath shaggy fur and roughly 120 pounds of pissed off wolf. A vicious growl makes the hair at the back of John’s neck stand up and he flinches back, although some dazed part of his brain realizes it’s actually nice to not have it directed at himself for a change.
Something about that picture, Sam attacking a vampire in this form, makes John feel uneasy. It’s more than being worried about his son- there is something he should remember, but he can’t. He watches dazedly how the wolf jumps off the creature and lands on the ground between him and it, never taking his eyes off the threat in front of them. This close even his blurry sight picks up the way Sam is trembling with fury, watches how he lowers his head, fangs bared, another deep, aggressive growl shivering through the heaving chest. Sam’s hackles are up all the way and his movements are slow, stiff, pure animal, threatening, dangerous, pissed as John has ever seen him. Ready to fight, to kill.
The vampire is watching the wolf with open curiosity, John has no idea what exactly he’s thinking, but the cruel smile that plays at the corners of the pale lips sends a shiver of worry down his spine. It grows to a full-blown shudder when the man tilts his head to the side and studies Sam, even goes so far as to sniff the air for a second before his smile deepens.
“You’re no ordinary dog…”
Sam answers with another growl, takes a step forward, eyes trained on the man’s throat, stiffening even more when the vampire bares his own fangs. And, just like that, John remembers, the knowledge’s there, as clear as crystal - and he knows what’s wrong. If Sam fights a Vamp, if he bites him, swallows blood-
The vampire moves and Sam reacts, in one fluid motion the wolf is on the creature again, taking advantage of the man’s prone position, using his weight and speed to push him back, going for the throat.
John does the only thing he can think of.
“Sam, DOWN!”
His voice cuts through the air and, as it has countless times before, it drops the wolf to the ground before his fangs can sink into the man’s neck. The shaggy body lands with an audible thump next to the man where it crouches immediately, head held low, skimming the mud, the whole body shaking with tension, dying to attack. Sam is so tense, so focused on the man’s throat he can’t even force out a growl through his own.
The vampire stares at Sam for a moment, the looks over at John, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
“Worried about your precious puppy?” he drawls mockingly and moves, lashing out with his foot. Sam is too close to dodge, unable to move because of the command and the man’s boot crashes into his side, so fast and with such brute force it sends the shaggy body flying through the air.
Sam hits the trunk of a tree behind him with a sickening crunching sound that forces a horrible mewling cry from his throat. He crumples to the ground, paws twitching weakly against the mud.
Hearing that sound, seeing his son collapse, finally clears the lethargy from John’s brain and he forces himself to his feet, reaching inside his coat for the knife Bobby had given him earlier. “Dipped in dead man’s blood,” he’d said, “works like a poison on them, will slow them down.” John hadn’t meant to use it, isn’t even sure it would really work, but he’d lost his machete when he’d been thrown into the tree earlier and the knife is the only thing he has left.
The vampire is still watching gleefully how Sam struggles to get back to his paws and John wants nothing more than to check on his son, but he can’t, he needs to take the sonofabitch out or they are both done. He straightens, unnoticed, sways dangerously on his feet for a moment, his vision graying out, but he forces that back, he needs to focus.
He surprises even himself with how much strength he has still left as he launches himself at the vampire. He keeps the knife hidden from view as long as he can, telling himself over and over again that he only needs to graze it, only needs to make one cut and the poison will do its job.
He uses the fact that the creature is obviously enjoying watching his kid in pain to get close- and brings the knife down, slicing through the jacket the man’s wearing and leaving a long scratch behind. The man hisses, though it sounds more annoyed than painful, and turns his head to glare at him.
“Shouldn’t have done that…”
John doesn’t see it coming, doesn’t even think the thing actually moves- but suddenly he’s airborne again. He realizes distractedly that he’s lost his second weapon now and curses himself for not being at the top of his game.
And then the world slows down, everything around him suddenly happens so slowly as if he is watching it from under water. He can feel the impact with the tree in his back ages before the pain sets in, and in that moment of limbo between coming to rest at the foot of yet another tree and all encompassing agony, several things happen at the same time.
The vampire is moving, getting to his feet again, eyes fixed on John, a scowl so angry written across his face that he can see the beast under the human features.
Sam is moving, too. He has somehow managed to get to his feet and is limping toward him as well, listing heavily to the side as he tries to sidetrack the vampire, to get between John and the threat, furious eyes fixed on the man’s neck. John knows the wolf is out to protect him, to kill the creature, John can see it in his eyes. Sam won’t back down this time. Both Sam and the wolf will protect him to their last breath if they have to, he can see that in every line of the battered, swaying body.
And that scares him, sends a shock through him worse than anything the vampire could ever do to him. He won’t allow Sam to be hurt. It’s not going to happen. As long as he has any say in this Sam will not risk being turned, no way. He puts all his strength into the words, raises his voice as loud as he can, meaning it this time, concentrating so hard on his intention he can literally feel the magic wrap around Sam’s body as he grounds out, “Stay away, Sam, stay-“
He doesn’t get any further, suddenly the pain is there, white, hot and everywhere, it hits him so hard he doesn’t even feel his eyes rolling back in his head.
And then he’s gone.
*** *** ***
Dad!
Stay away
No!
Stay away
Dad, get up!
Stay away
Goddamn it, Dad, get up get up get UP!
The dead is moving, the leader is not.
Come on, Dad, please get up, move!
Down, helpless, weak. Protect him, protect the leader-
Stay away
Come on, move, get over there, help him, move!
Stay away
No. No no nonononono, fight it!
It smells of blood, death, decay. Strange, wrong, not supposed to be there. Powerful. Fast. Too close, too close to the pack, needs to protect the pack, vulnerable, doesn’t move.
Dad, come on, please, movemovemovemovemove-
Anger explodes forcefully, furious barks batter at the dead’s back, challenging it, daring it to come closer, to fight. The head lowers, lips peel back, ears flatten.
Fight.
Kill.
Protect.
Pack.
Get over here, you sick fuck, leave him the fuck alone!
The dead turns around and bares its teeth, snarls a warning, dark power hovering behind dead eyes.
Can’t run away, not when the pack is helpless, needs protection.
Dad, please, move, get up, let me HELP!
Stay away
FUCK!
The dead doesn’t have to stay away. It kneels down next to the leader, touches his face, moves him, but he doesn’t wake up, doesn’t move-
MOVE MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE
Stay away
No, we can’t, we have to help him, GET THERE!
Fangs gleam, the dead leans over (father), gets ready to bite.
GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DAD!
Terror, bright light.
Darkness.
chapter 7