Hunter Rising, 5/?, (R) Dean, Sam, OC
Title: Hunter of the Shadows Book 2: Hunter Rising
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Five
Now…
"Have to admit, I was more than a little freaked out by Sam's powers," Dean's head is resting on his arms, eyes staring into the camera. A limp, pale hand is clutched tightly in one of his, thumb gently rubbing over a still knuckle. "He was getting good, but it was still hurting him and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I felt helpless and… scared. I toyed with the idea of forbidding him from using his skills, but figured that wouldn't work. What if the power built up whilst dormant, and broke out against his will? God only knows how that dangerous that could be. To Sam and those around him."
Dean's looking a little brighter, with a small, gentle smile on his face. In fact, the watcher may note there's a different feel to the atmosphere with this journal entry. It's lighter; perhaps the correct word is hopeful.
"We think Sam's fever is breaking, that maybe he's getting better," a small yawn interrupts Dean's speech and splits his handsome face wide open; though it's obvious he's trying to keep it quiet.
"I heard that!" a familiar voice calls out from across the room.
Dean sighs. "I slept, ok? I got four hours last night!"
"Try one," Tobius is now standing over him, arms folded across his chest. "You tossed and turned for the first three. And you need to change…"
"I changed yesterday!"
"You stayed in the room and curled up on the bed next to Sam."
"So? That counts!"
"Dean, you need fresh air," Tobius answers calmly. "And your son will need fresh meat when he wakes up." As if to compound his point, he adds "I'll keep a close eye on Sam."
Dean pauses to consider that. "Yeah, alright. But just let me get this journal entry done, ok? Then I'm gone."
Tobius studies him with narrowed eyes. "Very well. In the meantime, I'll be on patrol. Just call when you're ready."
With a comforting squeeze to Dean's shoulder, a gentle kiss to Sam's forehead, he sheds his clothes, changes, and leaves the room.
"He's hoping a night's hunting will help me sleep better." Dean smiles fondly after the retreating wolf. "Hell! Maybe he's right! As for fresh meat, I've kinda left all that to Tobius. He's been pretty tolerant about that. He knows I just don't wanna leave my son." He huffs, miserably. "I hate hunting without Sam. But Sire's right. I do need to get out there."
Dean stares into the lens. "So, as I was saying…"
Then…
By unanimous agreement necromancy was kept out of Sam's training syllabus. The kid wasn't the only one who shuddered at the thought of raising the dead, and besides, like we weren't opening a tricky enough can of worms already. Last thing we needed was a bunch of lame ass zombies stumbling round the place, and bitching about how they were too young to die, or their lives were so sad, they felt lost, nobody loved them… get over it already! Move the fuck on!
There wasn't much necromancy could be used for anyhow, and it certainly wasn't a weapon. In fact, its main purpose is acquiring knowledge, but it strongly depends on tuning in and finding the right spirit. And we just didn't have the time.
Electrokinesis, as it turned out, the art of electrocution by touch, was another trait that was quickly crossed off the list. Whatever switches were needed to bring it on, Sam just didn't have them.
Between you and me, I was kind of pleased about that. Not that I thought Sam would deliberately hurt anyone, but from what he told me of Scott Carey, the special kid with Electrokinesis, it wasn't something that was easy to control, particularly if the user was under stress.
In fact, Sam also looked a little relieved. Maybe it was better to keep it simple and just stick with the visions and TK.
Simple...
Right.
Kid was getting restless. Hell, we were all getting restless. Two weeks later and Bobby still wasn't happy about sending us out there to essentially bring on a major fight. But, as Tobius pointed out, time wasn't on our side. In spite of the newly devised wards and cloaking spells Bobby had placed around the perimeter, the yard still wasn't safe. If Meg, or whoever the hell she really was, decided to swing by and check the place out again, it wouldn't take the bitch long to figure out we were here. Sam's TK skills were good, but whether or not they were yet good enough to take on a demon, and possibly some pretty powerful kids, no one could say.
I guess no one really wanted to find out.
It was made painstakingly clear to us by Bobby and Pastor Jim that Sam should not, under any circumstances, use his abilities to lure the other kids into a trap. If he called to one then there was a good chance he'd invite them all, which was kind of what we were hoping to avoid.
All that was required was to observe them.
We were to use Sam's skills to track the enemy, hunt them down one by one, and disable them. To accomplish this, we would carry on as normal, a family of hunters, seeking out strays and protecting humans. But at the same time we would be on our guard. At some point we were bound to run into Meg, but with caution, stealth, and a good portion of luck, we aimed to avoid that particular confrontation for as long as possible. If she showed up too early, with a cohort of psychics at her command, it would be over for us.
Discreetly taking them down one at a time would help to even the odds a little, because right then, the other side held all the aces.
Fortunately, there was one person they didn't know enough about.
Lieutenant Colonel Tobius Le Salle, former Commanding Officer of the 22nd Regiment, Special Air Service, hadn't seen official action since the '60s, but the guy still lived by the Regiment's motto Who Dares Wins. Before rising quickly through the ranks, Sire was one of the best assassins in British Special Forces, known for his stealth, patience, speed of attack and execution.
He summed it up nicely for us one evening after dinner.
"You go in, keep your head down, double tap to the back of the head, you get out. No messing about, no survivors, no prisoners."
But the whole 'patience' thing was bugging me a little. "Uh… Sammy and me… patience ain't exactly our best suit."
Tobius had smiled faintly, eyes gleaming with intent. "Then it's high time it was."
He'd described in brief detail a particular mission whereby he was forced to wait in freezing cold conditions for seven hours. His target, unbeknownst to Tobius, had taken a detour to the theatre before stumbling home drunk in the early hours of the morning.
Yeah. Intel's a real bitch.
Aborting the mission wasn't an option. The area around the target's house was under constant surveillance by his home security team, and Tobius had a hard enough time getting in. Kitten crawling through mud and snow, sometimes through ditches of freezing water, couldn't have been fun only to find your mission objective was busy getting hammered fifty miles away.
In the end, the guy's inebriation had worked in Sire's favour.
Hours later, he passed out cold on the lounge floor in full view of the large bay windows. Tobius hadn't even needed to leave his observation post. He'd spied his objective through the cross hairs of his sniper's scope, squeezed the trigger, and ruthlessly taken down his target. A mere hole in the window was the only evidence that someone had been on the premises.
Aside from the body on the floor of the lounge with a hole in its head, that is.
Before you gasp in horror, just let me make one thing plain.
Tobius is a killer.
And a damn lethal one at that.
I've never lied to you about it, and neither has he.
If it makes you feel any better, the target was heavily involved in terrorism, child slavery and prostitution, but it was his dealings in illegal narcotics that really amassed his fortune.
Think of it this way. Tobius is the same even now.
There's a difference between a professional government assassin and a brutal killer.
He ain't Manson and he sure as hell ain't Jack the Ripper.
But he is, now, a hunter of strays, the shadowy wolves that skirt the edges of society, feeding on the young and weak, taking what they want, when they want, with complete disregard for the law.
Sound familiar? Sound almost human, does it?
Yeah, werewolves and humans have a lot in common.
For example, imagine a cocktail evening with wine and soft music. They watch and wait, skillfully assessing every single occupant of the room, before making their choice. They then charm their way in, subtly segregating their victim from the rest of the group, perhaps onto the balcony, or in the garden. Once the poor sap falls into a false sense of security, the stray attacks quickly, without mercy, and disappears long before the victim is found torn to pieces, and the screaming starts.
Human law cannot touch these beings, because human law holds no precedence for them. The simple reason being, you can't arrest something you don't believe in.
That's where we come in.
Just because there's no human law, doesn't mean to say there's no law at all.
So who better than a non-lunar to uphold the word of that law?
Who better than someone who knows how a true killer thinks?
Sammy and I have taken down our fair share of strays over the years, but Tobius is different even from us, age difference aside. We've always known it, and disturbing as it might be, that fact has kept us alive up to now.
We were about to rely on that fact once again.
The training Sam went through brought with it some up and downsides. The upside being, visions no longer came to him sporadically through his dreams. With concentrating his mind hard on some of the special kids he'd met already, Sam was able to trigger a response.
That wasn't as simple as it sounded. It took one hell of an effort on Sam's part, and the first few times he tried it he passed out from the pain and woke up with no memory of what he'd seen. The visions didn't just saunter into his head at will. Once he flipped the switch, it lit a fuse which in turn set off around a hundred pounds of semtex, nearly blowing his brains out.
Or, at least, that's the way it seemed to me when Sam gasped, then screamed in pain, and blood poured from his nose. I almost felt relieved for the poor kid when he fainted but, apparently, loss of consciousness didn't mean the pain let up. Just the opposite.
But he kept trying.
Sammy?
I caught him before he hit the floor, whilst Sire held a cool, damp wash cloth under Sam's nose and gently rubbed his back.
I glanced up at Tobius when there was no response.
Sire just nodded. Give him time. Bobby said this could happen until he gets stronger.
Don't make it any easier to watch. I hate that he has to go through this. I shifted my weight and cupped the back of Sam's neck, supporting his lolling head.
I know, Dean, Tobius frowned in sympathy. I don't like it any more than you do, but the more he tries it the less painful it will be.
Bobby was currently on a supply run with Pastor Jim, whilst Sam practiced the next stage of his abilities. But the men had left us with strict instructions to watch Sam carefully for any reactions to the visions.
Reactions? That was one way of putting it.
"Nnuuugggghhh…" A soft, pained moan came from right by my shoulder. "God! That hurt!"
Tobius raised an eyebrow, and grinned. "At least he comes round quickly now. That's a relief."
"How, exactly," Sam muttered, blinking heavily and shaking his head gently, "is that a 'relief'?"
"Because the last thing we need," I replied, picking up on what Sire was getting at "is an unconscious werewolf in a hairy situation." Grinning at the indignant expression on Sam's face, I added shamelessly "Pardon the pun."
"Thanks for your concern," he grouched good-naturedly, but winced and held a hand to his temple. "Ow."
My grin fell away instantly. "Seriously, though. You ok, Sam?"
Sam nodded slowly and squinted as though the light hurt his eyes. Sire immediately took note and got up to draw the curtains shut.
"It won't always hurt, Sam," said Tobius, softly. "Remember your first change?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? Felt like my entire body was being ripped apart!"
Sire grinned at that, crossed the room again and patted Sam on the shoulder. "But now?"
The kid frowned. "I guess… I don't notice it anymore."
Tobius nodded, approvingly. "Exactly. It's just a part of the furniture. And this is just the same."
Someone knocked softly on the door.
"How's it going in there? Sam ok?"
"C'mon in, Bobby," I called. "Sam's fine. Bleeding all over your carpet again, but fine nonetheless."
Bobby entered the room, followed by Pastor Jim, and smiled sympathetically at Sam. "Rough going, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam sniffed and took the wash cloth from Sire to dab at his upper lip. "You could say that. Much more of this and I'm gonna need a transfusion."
"Sorry, kid," our old friend muttered, sadly.
Sam gazed up at him with a slight smile and a quizzical frown. "It's ok, Bobby, s'not your fault." He shrugged casually. "I'll get used to it."
But Sam obviously felt it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty. He gently pulled away from me, sat down on a chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them. Eyes glowing with urgency, he took charge of the conversation and steered it back on track.
"You guys need to know what I saw…"
The vision had been short and to the point. It showed Sam a face, a street name, and a young girl being brutally murdered with a meat cleaver. He didn't recognise the girl, but the face he saw before the attack, sure seemed familiar to him.
Andy Gallagher, Sam assured us, was no murderer. But we'd all seen the look on Sire's face, the cold professional taking over, and issuing a silent death warrant.
Sam protested hotly, of course. It hadn't really occurred to him that 'disabling' the special children meant killing them.
Tobius wasn't prepared to take any chances, and I had to agree. It wasn't worth the risk of letting this Andy kid roam around, possibly developing his TK powers and cutting up anyone he chose.
But there in lie the crux of the matter. We had nothing more than Sam's vision to go on. Technically, as Jim and Bobby pointed out, Andy was innocent if the vision hadn't yet come to pass.
Then Sam pointed out something else. "I didn't actually see Andy wielding the blade in my vision. I only saw the attack from the killer's perspective, and there was no way to tell if it even was Andy."
It was open to debate, and that's where things got a little out of hand.
Thirty minutes later, we were all arguing at cross purposes, voices raised and trying to air our own views. It was beyond stupid, because by that point no one was actually listening.
Suddenly, a low commanding voice hissed out.
"Enough!"
Tobius was standing up straight, arms folded, and feet shoulder width apart. It occurred to me in that moment that not everyone, in fact, had been scrambling to speak their peace. Sire was the only one amongst us who hadn't been arguing. He'd just kept silent, watching, studying. We hadn't even remembered he was there until he commanded our attention.
As the room fell silent, the werewolf regarded each one of us in turn, eyebrows pulled down over glowing green eyes, looking every inch the senior SAS officer he'd once been. Even Bobby and the Pastor, to my amusement, seemed to squirm under that intense stare.
"Now," said Tobius, his tone suggesting that anymore bickering would not be tolerated. "Perhaps we would make better headway by actually discussing Sam's vision." He shook his head, still frowning. "Please note that this is a serious situation, and not a United Nations summit where the only difficult decision actually agreed upon is what to have for lunch!"
There were several sheepish grins and some shaking of heads. Trust Tobius to say exactly what he thinks.
Sire nodded; obviously happy he had everyone's attention, then sat down in front of Sam.
"I understand where you're coming from, young pup," he said, softly. "But these people are highly dangerous, not just to us, but to all humans. We have no idea what Azazel has planned for the future, but I'm willing to bet the human world would suffer greatly if he gets his way. And so will ours."
Sam sighed. "I know. But…" he shook his head, and I noticed his stubbornly clenched jaw. Tobius wasn't going to win this one. "Andy Gallagher's a good kid. He may have been chosen like the rest of us, but he hasn't used it for anything bad. He's not hurt anyone."
"For now," I put in, and hated the look of sheer misery that crossed his face. "Sam, all I'm sayin' is, can you be absolutely sure about him?"
Sam answered immediately. "There isn't a bad bone in his body."
We all shared a glance, but it was Tobius who made the decision.
"In that case, I'll defer to your judgment," Sire eyed him carefully. "But know this, Sam. If he so much as looks at you in what we consider to be a threatening manner…" he paused, still watching Sam's face. "And I will take him out. No questions asked."
So, I guess we were going to pay Andy Gallagher a visit.
Two days later found Sam and me in an unfamiliar town whilst Tobius took up 'sentry duty' as he put it. As cautious as ever, Sire had set up his OP, or observation post, somewhere nearby after Sam had begged him to stand down. Kid didn't want Andy scared off by the 'Tobius Scowl' and, so, with a philosophical shrug, and having taken no offence, Sire had bowed out and left us to it. But he absolutely refused to tell us where he was holed up. It would have to be enough to hear his thoughts.
Sounds a little over the top, I know, but frankly I was just grateful for the extra protection. I didn't trust this Andy Gallagher anymore than Sire did.
It was a dark, moonless night, and the only thing that stopped the temperature from plummeting were the heavy rain clouds that smothered the stars.
"This is it," Sam indicated the sign post under a dull street lamp. "This was the street in my vision."
I read the name.
Shaftsbury Avenue.
"Where the murder takes place?" I asked, quietly, though there appeared to be no one within earshot. There weren't many houses along the avenue, in fact. It was a pretty rural area, with the neighbours spaced about a mile apart. So, any screaming would mostly go unheard, assuming the victim got the chance…
"Uhuh," Sam answered nervously, and with good reason, as it turned out.
We could feel the growing tense excitement in the air; smell the fear and frustration, the heady scent of fresh blood, and hear the sounds of voices shouting urgently in the distance. The road made a bend to the left, and as we followed it round, it soon became apparent what all the fuss was about.
Patrol cars lined the sidewalk, parked at odd angles as though the drivers had abandoned their vehicles in a hurry. Red lights flashed, illuminating the dark night, and even reflecting off the low clouds. But it was the body bag being loaded into the back of the Coroner's car that caught our attention, along with the trail of dark red blood that followed it.
Boys, Sire was obviously watching, wherever he was. Stay out of sight, but listen and observe.
I pulled Sammy back behind a large conifer. One glance at him told me he knew.
I guess that means it's already happened. Sam murmured in my head.
I nodded, and noted the sadness and worry on the kid's face. Yeah. But it ain't your fault, ok? We got here as fast as we could.
He just shook his head, shoulders slumped in misery.
There was time for comfort later. Right now we had a job to do.
So we listened, and watched…
"What do we have here, Chief?"
Chief sighed and ran a hand through whatever was left of his hair. I felt fairly confident that by the end of the night, he'd be bald as a coot.
"Got an anonymous tip off 'bout an hour ago. Homicide, young woman in her early twenties, hacked to pieces," he held up a vicious looking meat cleaver in an evidence bag, still dripping with blood. "The killer used this."
"Motive?" asked his colleague.
"None so far, but there was someone else here, besides the victim and the perp. We found another set of footprints in the victim's blood."
"Boyfriend?"
The Chief nodded. "Name's Andrew Gallagher. I got people trying to track him down as we speak, but it ain't easy. Kid's a drifter, with no known address except when he swings by to visit his girl."
The two men fell silent and watched the forensics team sweep the area with a fine tooth comb. Voices were kept at a respectable volume, quiet murmurs and mutterings between the officers as various data were collected, bagged and catalogued.
"I'll tell ya, though," the Chief announced, suddenly, his tone sending a small shiver down my spine. "I ain't never seen anything like this before, not round here. Back in the city, maybe…" he glanced at the meat cleaver again, eyes narrowed, and whispered "He's strong as hell."
The other guy frowned. "Huh? Well… yeah, but that cleaver looks pretty sharp, Chief…"
"That's not what I meant." The Chief interrupted him, his voice low and soft. "Yeah, she was hacked to pieces. He used the cleaver to cut off her limbs…" he nodded to the next bag being brought out of the house. It was small, rounded, about the right shape for a… "But it looked to me like he ripped her head off with his bare hands. We found it on the other side of the room, under the coffee table."
The other man tried to stifle a gasp. "Jesus!"
The Chief, judging by the crucifix he wore was a God-fearing man, smiled grimly. "I doubt He's got anything to do with this."
Sam shuddered and sank back against the tree trunk. He was shaking his head and panting heavily. The blood draining away from his face suggested he was going into shock, and for a moment there I thought he was gonna pass out on me.
Sammy? I grabbed his shirt and held him up, just as his knees gave way. This wasn't the result of a weak stomach. Nah. This was a case for the Sammy Guilt Factor. Hey! C'mon, dude, look at me… Sam? Breathe easy now…
Dean… he clutched at my arm, fingers twisting in the sleeve, his body trembling harshly. Oh my God…
Easy now, I pushed him down until he was seated with his back against the tree, and held his head between his knees. S'not your fault, Sam. Ok? Understand me?
Dean! Heads-up… Sire called softly. Company…
I cocked my head to the side and nodded. Approaching footsteps from the crime scene sounded loudly on the road.
C'mon, kid. Time to make tracks. We can't afford to be found near a murder scene this time of night.
Sam, God love 'im, quickly pulled himself together, and nodded.
Atta boy.
The two of us got to our feet, and slipped silently away into the night.
Kid remained quiet all the way back to our motel room. As soon as I got the door unlocked, he stumbled across the carpet and into the bathroom. He didn't even waste time closing the door for the sake of privacy, just leaned over the toilet bowl, and threw up. And kept on throwing up, even as he sank to his knees on the cold tiled floor.
There wasn't much I could do for him. Just grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the cold tap, and pressed it over his clammy forehead. Sam, having emptied his gut, retched violently for several long minutes, the tears rolling down his face soaking his shirt, whilst I rubbed his back and murmured softly to him.
S'not your fault, kiddo. We couldn't have gotten here any faster, I whispered over and over again, in the hope that some of it might stick long enough in his mind to persuade him.
The motel room door clicked quietly open and a cold draught swept the room before cutting off when Sire closed it behind him. He eyed us with concern.
You boys ok? Tobius asked as he took off his woollen coat and laid it carefully over an armchair by the window.
I offered a weak smile and shrugged. As well as could be expected.
Tobius nodded solemnly, and began removing his clothes. With a casual yawn and a stretch, he changed and padded over to us, his sharp claws clicking on the bathroom tiles.
Dean, if you wouldn't mind fetching the brandy…?
I nodded, patted Sam on the shoulder, and reluctantly left the bathroom.
When I returned with a half-filled tumbler, Tobius was sitting in front of Sam, his snout gently nudging the kid's chin up.
Sam… child, look at me…
Sam let the huge wolf raise his tear-stained face, and sniffed miserably. I realised at that point he hadn't said a word since he'd nearly passed out, back on the road. Reaching forward, I pressed the glass into his trembling hands.
Go ahead, Sam.
Sam obediently took a small sip of brandy, and the effect was immediate. His whole body seemed to relax a little, his breathing somewhat calmer.
Tobius licked away some of the tears, and sat back, staring deep into the boy's eyes.
You're allowed to be angry, young pup. Tobius gently pawed at one of Sam's knees. And you're allowed to accept some responsibility for what happened, for that is the nature of what we do. But don't try to shoulder the entire burden alone. That will only break you. You are not to blame.
Sam shook his head Then what? That girl died, and I did nothing to stop it…
You tried, Sam. But, perhaps, Sire stared hard at the kid. You weren't meant to.
Even I felt a jolt of surprise at that. What?
This whole charade, Tobius lifted his head, his large snout sweeping round the room, was designed to bring you down, Sam. To demoralise and bury you in your own guilt.
The wolf regarded the youngster. And it's working. He paused, then said pointedly, Isn't it?
His voice in our heads was soft but menacing, sending chills scurrying up and down our spines.
Sire crept forward and pressed his snout to Sam's ear, huffing gently.
There will likely be many more innocent deaths before this is over, Sam, for that is the nature of war.
He stepped back again, head held high, ears tall and straight. And there are no two ways about it, this is war. We do what we can, save as many as possible, and hope that one day it'll be worth the price we all paid.
Sire sure has a way with words, which was why I had no objections when Tobius took over and offered Sam his counsel. I couldn't have put it better myself.
Sam dropped his chin, hair falling over his face and hiding him from us. We waited for his response, knowing it wouldn't be easy for him, but praying for his acceptance.
Fact is, Tobius is right.
In an ideal world, we'd all be the best of friends, no one would get hurt, or die, or kill, or have to go to war to protect that which we hold dear. Sammy, unfortunately, still lives with the dream that one day the world would be at peace, filled with love and blue birds and flowers, probably with puppies and kittens playing together in sunlit meadows.
I sound harsh.
I don't mean to.
It's a wonderful idea and no one could wish for it as much as I do but, like Sire, I'm a realist. Humans are animals at the end of the day.
Very intelligent animals, admittedly, but still with the good old fashioned primal animal instincts.
Hunting, killing, protecting, feeding, fighting, and fucking.
Bluntly put, but true. And you know it.
Dress up in fancy Armani suits, with Italian leather shoes, and hold your wine glass correctly, making factual conversation with some limp wristed prick with more money than sense about share prices, and who will be the next president… but you can't hide what you really are.
At least, not from us.
You also know that you guys are territorial as hell, and that's a big part of the world's problem, right? And it's probably a trait you inherited from the likes of us.
Now, you can repress all those instincts as much as you want, shoe horn them into some daydream semblance of civilised behavior, and pretend you're different from the rest of the animal kingdom, but the plain fact of the matter is, you're only making things worse for yourselves.
'Cos something's gotta give.
Sire once described it like a volcano; for years it sits, seemingly dormant, but something is building up inside, hot, pulsing, angry. It has to relieve the pressure every now and then, so it blows it top, causing devastation and destruction for miles around, scattering hot ash and spilling lava, releasing all the crap that's built up from years of repression. When it's fulfilled its task, it settles back down for another long sleep… until the next time.
War is kinda like that for you humans, I guess. At least, that's the way werewolves see it.
War is the volcano of the human psyche. You guys have got millions of years of primal instinct working against you and your civilized ideals. And that's just for starters.
Then you add an extra few ingredients into the already boiling, swirling, gut churning mix: religion, racial hatred, greed, cruelty, revenge, and that good ol' classic politics - probably the most lethal of all, and likely encompasses everything that's evil and slimy in the world. Suddenly, you have all the excuses in the world to hurt each other.
So in the face of all that, can you look at yourself in the mirror, and see an end to it all?
Or would you dig deep, face reality, and honestly accept that the concept of 'world peace' is little more than a pipedream?
No? Didn't think so. And if it's any consolation, I don't really blame you.
'Cos whilst Sammy was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, tears drying on his face, I could still see that light in his eyes. And it's that same light I see in you humans, that keeps you going, that amazing final instinct, the one that forms the basis of your determination and humanity.
Hope.
And no. I can't take that away from Sammy, at least, not just yet. No doubt that'll come later, but for now I have to let him believe.
But in the meantime...
Sam finally raised his head and nodded, sadly, but I held my breath awaiting his decision. As always, he didn't disappoint us.
We do what we can.
~
Chapter Six
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Five
Now…
"Have to admit, I was more than a little freaked out by Sam's powers," Dean's head is resting on his arms, eyes staring into the camera. A limp, pale hand is clutched tightly in one of his, thumb gently rubbing over a still knuckle. "He was getting good, but it was still hurting him and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I felt helpless and… scared. I toyed with the idea of forbidding him from using his skills, but figured that wouldn't work. What if the power built up whilst dormant, and broke out against his will? God only knows how that dangerous that could be. To Sam and those around him."
Dean's looking a little brighter, with a small, gentle smile on his face. In fact, the watcher may note there's a different feel to the atmosphere with this journal entry. It's lighter; perhaps the correct word is hopeful.
"We think Sam's fever is breaking, that maybe he's getting better," a small yawn interrupts Dean's speech and splits his handsome face wide open; though it's obvious he's trying to keep it quiet.
"I heard that!" a familiar voice calls out from across the room.
Dean sighs. "I slept, ok? I got four hours last night!"
"Try one," Tobius is now standing over him, arms folded across his chest. "You tossed and turned for the first three. And you need to change…"
"I changed yesterday!"
"You stayed in the room and curled up on the bed next to Sam."
"So? That counts!"
"Dean, you need fresh air," Tobius answers calmly. "And your son will need fresh meat when he wakes up." As if to compound his point, he adds "I'll keep a close eye on Sam."
Dean pauses to consider that. "Yeah, alright. But just let me get this journal entry done, ok? Then I'm gone."
Tobius studies him with narrowed eyes. "Very well. In the meantime, I'll be on patrol. Just call when you're ready."
With a comforting squeeze to Dean's shoulder, a gentle kiss to Sam's forehead, he sheds his clothes, changes, and leaves the room.
"He's hoping a night's hunting will help me sleep better." Dean smiles fondly after the retreating wolf. "Hell! Maybe he's right! As for fresh meat, I've kinda left all that to Tobius. He's been pretty tolerant about that. He knows I just don't wanna leave my son." He huffs, miserably. "I hate hunting without Sam. But Sire's right. I do need to get out there."
Dean stares into the lens. "So, as I was saying…"
Then…
By unanimous agreement necromancy was kept out of Sam's training syllabus. The kid wasn't the only one who shuddered at the thought of raising the dead, and besides, like we weren't opening a tricky enough can of worms already. Last thing we needed was a bunch of lame ass zombies stumbling round the place, and bitching about how they were too young to die, or their lives were so sad, they felt lost, nobody loved them… get over it already! Move the fuck on!
There wasn't much necromancy could be used for anyhow, and it certainly wasn't a weapon. In fact, its main purpose is acquiring knowledge, but it strongly depends on tuning in and finding the right spirit. And we just didn't have the time.
Electrokinesis, as it turned out, the art of electrocution by touch, was another trait that was quickly crossed off the list. Whatever switches were needed to bring it on, Sam just didn't have them.
Between you and me, I was kind of pleased about that. Not that I thought Sam would deliberately hurt anyone, but from what he told me of Scott Carey, the special kid with Electrokinesis, it wasn't something that was easy to control, particularly if the user was under stress.
In fact, Sam also looked a little relieved. Maybe it was better to keep it simple and just stick with the visions and TK.
Simple...
Right.
Kid was getting restless. Hell, we were all getting restless. Two weeks later and Bobby still wasn't happy about sending us out there to essentially bring on a major fight. But, as Tobius pointed out, time wasn't on our side. In spite of the newly devised wards and cloaking spells Bobby had placed around the perimeter, the yard still wasn't safe. If Meg, or whoever the hell she really was, decided to swing by and check the place out again, it wouldn't take the bitch long to figure out we were here. Sam's TK skills were good, but whether or not they were yet good enough to take on a demon, and possibly some pretty powerful kids, no one could say.
I guess no one really wanted to find out.
It was made painstakingly clear to us by Bobby and Pastor Jim that Sam should not, under any circumstances, use his abilities to lure the other kids into a trap. If he called to one then there was a good chance he'd invite them all, which was kind of what we were hoping to avoid.
All that was required was to observe them.
We were to use Sam's skills to track the enemy, hunt them down one by one, and disable them. To accomplish this, we would carry on as normal, a family of hunters, seeking out strays and protecting humans. But at the same time we would be on our guard. At some point we were bound to run into Meg, but with caution, stealth, and a good portion of luck, we aimed to avoid that particular confrontation for as long as possible. If she showed up too early, with a cohort of psychics at her command, it would be over for us.
Discreetly taking them down one at a time would help to even the odds a little, because right then, the other side held all the aces.
Fortunately, there was one person they didn't know enough about.
Lieutenant Colonel Tobius Le Salle, former Commanding Officer of the 22nd Regiment, Special Air Service, hadn't seen official action since the '60s, but the guy still lived by the Regiment's motto Who Dares Wins. Before rising quickly through the ranks, Sire was one of the best assassins in British Special Forces, known for his stealth, patience, speed of attack and execution.
He summed it up nicely for us one evening after dinner.
"You go in, keep your head down, double tap to the back of the head, you get out. No messing about, no survivors, no prisoners."
But the whole 'patience' thing was bugging me a little. "Uh… Sammy and me… patience ain't exactly our best suit."
Tobius had smiled faintly, eyes gleaming with intent. "Then it's high time it was."
He'd described in brief detail a particular mission whereby he was forced to wait in freezing cold conditions for seven hours. His target, unbeknownst to Tobius, had taken a detour to the theatre before stumbling home drunk in the early hours of the morning.
Yeah. Intel's a real bitch.
Aborting the mission wasn't an option. The area around the target's house was under constant surveillance by his home security team, and Tobius had a hard enough time getting in. Kitten crawling through mud and snow, sometimes through ditches of freezing water, couldn't have been fun only to find your mission objective was busy getting hammered fifty miles away.
In the end, the guy's inebriation had worked in Sire's favour.
Hours later, he passed out cold on the lounge floor in full view of the large bay windows. Tobius hadn't even needed to leave his observation post. He'd spied his objective through the cross hairs of his sniper's scope, squeezed the trigger, and ruthlessly taken down his target. A mere hole in the window was the only evidence that someone had been on the premises.
Aside from the body on the floor of the lounge with a hole in its head, that is.
Before you gasp in horror, just let me make one thing plain.
Tobius is a killer.
And a damn lethal one at that.
I've never lied to you about it, and neither has he.
If it makes you feel any better, the target was heavily involved in terrorism, child slavery and prostitution, but it was his dealings in illegal narcotics that really amassed his fortune.
Think of it this way. Tobius is the same even now.
There's a difference between a professional government assassin and a brutal killer.
He ain't Manson and he sure as hell ain't Jack the Ripper.
But he is, now, a hunter of strays, the shadowy wolves that skirt the edges of society, feeding on the young and weak, taking what they want, when they want, with complete disregard for the law.
Sound familiar? Sound almost human, does it?
Yeah, werewolves and humans have a lot in common.
For example, imagine a cocktail evening with wine and soft music. They watch and wait, skillfully assessing every single occupant of the room, before making their choice. They then charm their way in, subtly segregating their victim from the rest of the group, perhaps onto the balcony, or in the garden. Once the poor sap falls into a false sense of security, the stray attacks quickly, without mercy, and disappears long before the victim is found torn to pieces, and the screaming starts.
Human law cannot touch these beings, because human law holds no precedence for them. The simple reason being, you can't arrest something you don't believe in.
That's where we come in.
Just because there's no human law, doesn't mean to say there's no law at all.
So who better than a non-lunar to uphold the word of that law?
Who better than someone who knows how a true killer thinks?
Sammy and I have taken down our fair share of strays over the years, but Tobius is different even from us, age difference aside. We've always known it, and disturbing as it might be, that fact has kept us alive up to now.
We were about to rely on that fact once again.
The training Sam went through brought with it some up and downsides. The upside being, visions no longer came to him sporadically through his dreams. With concentrating his mind hard on some of the special kids he'd met already, Sam was able to trigger a response.
That wasn't as simple as it sounded. It took one hell of an effort on Sam's part, and the first few times he tried it he passed out from the pain and woke up with no memory of what he'd seen. The visions didn't just saunter into his head at will. Once he flipped the switch, it lit a fuse which in turn set off around a hundred pounds of semtex, nearly blowing his brains out.
Or, at least, that's the way it seemed to me when Sam gasped, then screamed in pain, and blood poured from his nose. I almost felt relieved for the poor kid when he fainted but, apparently, loss of consciousness didn't mean the pain let up. Just the opposite.
But he kept trying.
Sammy?
I caught him before he hit the floor, whilst Sire held a cool, damp wash cloth under Sam's nose and gently rubbed his back.
I glanced up at Tobius when there was no response.
Sire just nodded. Give him time. Bobby said this could happen until he gets stronger.
Don't make it any easier to watch. I hate that he has to go through this. I shifted my weight and cupped the back of Sam's neck, supporting his lolling head.
I know, Dean, Tobius frowned in sympathy. I don't like it any more than you do, but the more he tries it the less painful it will be.
Bobby was currently on a supply run with Pastor Jim, whilst Sam practiced the next stage of his abilities. But the men had left us with strict instructions to watch Sam carefully for any reactions to the visions.
Reactions? That was one way of putting it.
"Nnuuugggghhh…" A soft, pained moan came from right by my shoulder. "God! That hurt!"
Tobius raised an eyebrow, and grinned. "At least he comes round quickly now. That's a relief."
"How, exactly," Sam muttered, blinking heavily and shaking his head gently, "is that a 'relief'?"
"Because the last thing we need," I replied, picking up on what Sire was getting at "is an unconscious werewolf in a hairy situation." Grinning at the indignant expression on Sam's face, I added shamelessly "Pardon the pun."
"Thanks for your concern," he grouched good-naturedly, but winced and held a hand to his temple. "Ow."
My grin fell away instantly. "Seriously, though. You ok, Sam?"
Sam nodded slowly and squinted as though the light hurt his eyes. Sire immediately took note and got up to draw the curtains shut.
"It won't always hurt, Sam," said Tobius, softly. "Remember your first change?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? Felt like my entire body was being ripped apart!"
Sire grinned at that, crossed the room again and patted Sam on the shoulder. "But now?"
The kid frowned. "I guess… I don't notice it anymore."
Tobius nodded, approvingly. "Exactly. It's just a part of the furniture. And this is just the same."
Someone knocked softly on the door.
"How's it going in there? Sam ok?"
"C'mon in, Bobby," I called. "Sam's fine. Bleeding all over your carpet again, but fine nonetheless."
Bobby entered the room, followed by Pastor Jim, and smiled sympathetically at Sam. "Rough going, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam sniffed and took the wash cloth from Sire to dab at his upper lip. "You could say that. Much more of this and I'm gonna need a transfusion."
"Sorry, kid," our old friend muttered, sadly.
Sam gazed up at him with a slight smile and a quizzical frown. "It's ok, Bobby, s'not your fault." He shrugged casually. "I'll get used to it."
But Sam obviously felt it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty. He gently pulled away from me, sat down on a chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them. Eyes glowing with urgency, he took charge of the conversation and steered it back on track.
"You guys need to know what I saw…"
The vision had been short and to the point. It showed Sam a face, a street name, and a young girl being brutally murdered with a meat cleaver. He didn't recognise the girl, but the face he saw before the attack, sure seemed familiar to him.
Andy Gallagher, Sam assured us, was no murderer. But we'd all seen the look on Sire's face, the cold professional taking over, and issuing a silent death warrant.
Sam protested hotly, of course. It hadn't really occurred to him that 'disabling' the special children meant killing them.
Tobius wasn't prepared to take any chances, and I had to agree. It wasn't worth the risk of letting this Andy kid roam around, possibly developing his TK powers and cutting up anyone he chose.
But there in lie the crux of the matter. We had nothing more than Sam's vision to go on. Technically, as Jim and Bobby pointed out, Andy was innocent if the vision hadn't yet come to pass.
Then Sam pointed out something else. "I didn't actually see Andy wielding the blade in my vision. I only saw the attack from the killer's perspective, and there was no way to tell if it even was Andy."
It was open to debate, and that's where things got a little out of hand.
Thirty minutes later, we were all arguing at cross purposes, voices raised and trying to air our own views. It was beyond stupid, because by that point no one was actually listening.
Suddenly, a low commanding voice hissed out.
"Enough!"
Tobius was standing up straight, arms folded, and feet shoulder width apart. It occurred to me in that moment that not everyone, in fact, had been scrambling to speak their peace. Sire was the only one amongst us who hadn't been arguing. He'd just kept silent, watching, studying. We hadn't even remembered he was there until he commanded our attention.
As the room fell silent, the werewolf regarded each one of us in turn, eyebrows pulled down over glowing green eyes, looking every inch the senior SAS officer he'd once been. Even Bobby and the Pastor, to my amusement, seemed to squirm under that intense stare.
"Now," said Tobius, his tone suggesting that anymore bickering would not be tolerated. "Perhaps we would make better headway by actually discussing Sam's vision." He shook his head, still frowning. "Please note that this is a serious situation, and not a United Nations summit where the only difficult decision actually agreed upon is what to have for lunch!"
There were several sheepish grins and some shaking of heads. Trust Tobius to say exactly what he thinks.
Sire nodded; obviously happy he had everyone's attention, then sat down in front of Sam.
"I understand where you're coming from, young pup," he said, softly. "But these people are highly dangerous, not just to us, but to all humans. We have no idea what Azazel has planned for the future, but I'm willing to bet the human world would suffer greatly if he gets his way. And so will ours."
Sam sighed. "I know. But…" he shook his head, and I noticed his stubbornly clenched jaw. Tobius wasn't going to win this one. "Andy Gallagher's a good kid. He may have been chosen like the rest of us, but he hasn't used it for anything bad. He's not hurt anyone."
"For now," I put in, and hated the look of sheer misery that crossed his face. "Sam, all I'm sayin' is, can you be absolutely sure about him?"
Sam answered immediately. "There isn't a bad bone in his body."
We all shared a glance, but it was Tobius who made the decision.
"In that case, I'll defer to your judgment," Sire eyed him carefully. "But know this, Sam. If he so much as looks at you in what we consider to be a threatening manner…" he paused, still watching Sam's face. "And I will take him out. No questions asked."
So, I guess we were going to pay Andy Gallagher a visit.
Two days later found Sam and me in an unfamiliar town whilst Tobius took up 'sentry duty' as he put it. As cautious as ever, Sire had set up his OP, or observation post, somewhere nearby after Sam had begged him to stand down. Kid didn't want Andy scared off by the 'Tobius Scowl' and, so, with a philosophical shrug, and having taken no offence, Sire had bowed out and left us to it. But he absolutely refused to tell us where he was holed up. It would have to be enough to hear his thoughts.
Sounds a little over the top, I know, but frankly I was just grateful for the extra protection. I didn't trust this Andy Gallagher anymore than Sire did.
It was a dark, moonless night, and the only thing that stopped the temperature from plummeting were the heavy rain clouds that smothered the stars.
"This is it," Sam indicated the sign post under a dull street lamp. "This was the street in my vision."
I read the name.
Shaftsbury Avenue.
"Where the murder takes place?" I asked, quietly, though there appeared to be no one within earshot. There weren't many houses along the avenue, in fact. It was a pretty rural area, with the neighbours spaced about a mile apart. So, any screaming would mostly go unheard, assuming the victim got the chance…
"Uhuh," Sam answered nervously, and with good reason, as it turned out.
We could feel the growing tense excitement in the air; smell the fear and frustration, the heady scent of fresh blood, and hear the sounds of voices shouting urgently in the distance. The road made a bend to the left, and as we followed it round, it soon became apparent what all the fuss was about.
Patrol cars lined the sidewalk, parked at odd angles as though the drivers had abandoned their vehicles in a hurry. Red lights flashed, illuminating the dark night, and even reflecting off the low clouds. But it was the body bag being loaded into the back of the Coroner's car that caught our attention, along with the trail of dark red blood that followed it.
Boys, Sire was obviously watching, wherever he was. Stay out of sight, but listen and observe.
I pulled Sammy back behind a large conifer. One glance at him told me he knew.
I guess that means it's already happened. Sam murmured in my head.
I nodded, and noted the sadness and worry on the kid's face. Yeah. But it ain't your fault, ok? We got here as fast as we could.
He just shook his head, shoulders slumped in misery.
There was time for comfort later. Right now we had a job to do.
So we listened, and watched…
"What do we have here, Chief?"
Chief sighed and ran a hand through whatever was left of his hair. I felt fairly confident that by the end of the night, he'd be bald as a coot.
"Got an anonymous tip off 'bout an hour ago. Homicide, young woman in her early twenties, hacked to pieces," he held up a vicious looking meat cleaver in an evidence bag, still dripping with blood. "The killer used this."
"Motive?" asked his colleague.
"None so far, but there was someone else here, besides the victim and the perp. We found another set of footprints in the victim's blood."
"Boyfriend?"
The Chief nodded. "Name's Andrew Gallagher. I got people trying to track him down as we speak, but it ain't easy. Kid's a drifter, with no known address except when he swings by to visit his girl."
The two men fell silent and watched the forensics team sweep the area with a fine tooth comb. Voices were kept at a respectable volume, quiet murmurs and mutterings between the officers as various data were collected, bagged and catalogued.
"I'll tell ya, though," the Chief announced, suddenly, his tone sending a small shiver down my spine. "I ain't never seen anything like this before, not round here. Back in the city, maybe…" he glanced at the meat cleaver again, eyes narrowed, and whispered "He's strong as hell."
The other guy frowned. "Huh? Well… yeah, but that cleaver looks pretty sharp, Chief…"
"That's not what I meant." The Chief interrupted him, his voice low and soft. "Yeah, she was hacked to pieces. He used the cleaver to cut off her limbs…" he nodded to the next bag being brought out of the house. It was small, rounded, about the right shape for a… "But it looked to me like he ripped her head off with his bare hands. We found it on the other side of the room, under the coffee table."
The other man tried to stifle a gasp. "Jesus!"
The Chief, judging by the crucifix he wore was a God-fearing man, smiled grimly. "I doubt He's got anything to do with this."
Sam shuddered and sank back against the tree trunk. He was shaking his head and panting heavily. The blood draining away from his face suggested he was going into shock, and for a moment there I thought he was gonna pass out on me.
Sammy? I grabbed his shirt and held him up, just as his knees gave way. This wasn't the result of a weak stomach. Nah. This was a case for the Sammy Guilt Factor. Hey! C'mon, dude, look at me… Sam? Breathe easy now…
Dean… he clutched at my arm, fingers twisting in the sleeve, his body trembling harshly. Oh my God…
Easy now, I pushed him down until he was seated with his back against the tree, and held his head between his knees. S'not your fault, Sam. Ok? Understand me?
Dean! Heads-up… Sire called softly. Company…
I cocked my head to the side and nodded. Approaching footsteps from the crime scene sounded loudly on the road.
C'mon, kid. Time to make tracks. We can't afford to be found near a murder scene this time of night.
Sam, God love 'im, quickly pulled himself together, and nodded.
Atta boy.
The two of us got to our feet, and slipped silently away into the night.
Kid remained quiet all the way back to our motel room. As soon as I got the door unlocked, he stumbled across the carpet and into the bathroom. He didn't even waste time closing the door for the sake of privacy, just leaned over the toilet bowl, and threw up. And kept on throwing up, even as he sank to his knees on the cold tiled floor.
There wasn't much I could do for him. Just grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the cold tap, and pressed it over his clammy forehead. Sam, having emptied his gut, retched violently for several long minutes, the tears rolling down his face soaking his shirt, whilst I rubbed his back and murmured softly to him.
S'not your fault, kiddo. We couldn't have gotten here any faster, I whispered over and over again, in the hope that some of it might stick long enough in his mind to persuade him.
The motel room door clicked quietly open and a cold draught swept the room before cutting off when Sire closed it behind him. He eyed us with concern.
You boys ok? Tobius asked as he took off his woollen coat and laid it carefully over an armchair by the window.
I offered a weak smile and shrugged. As well as could be expected.
Tobius nodded solemnly, and began removing his clothes. With a casual yawn and a stretch, he changed and padded over to us, his sharp claws clicking on the bathroom tiles.
Dean, if you wouldn't mind fetching the brandy…?
I nodded, patted Sam on the shoulder, and reluctantly left the bathroom.
When I returned with a half-filled tumbler, Tobius was sitting in front of Sam, his snout gently nudging the kid's chin up.
Sam… child, look at me…
Sam let the huge wolf raise his tear-stained face, and sniffed miserably. I realised at that point he hadn't said a word since he'd nearly passed out, back on the road. Reaching forward, I pressed the glass into his trembling hands.
Go ahead, Sam.
Sam obediently took a small sip of brandy, and the effect was immediate. His whole body seemed to relax a little, his breathing somewhat calmer.
Tobius licked away some of the tears, and sat back, staring deep into the boy's eyes.
You're allowed to be angry, young pup. Tobius gently pawed at one of Sam's knees. And you're allowed to accept some responsibility for what happened, for that is the nature of what we do. But don't try to shoulder the entire burden alone. That will only break you. You are not to blame.
Sam shook his head Then what? That girl died, and I did nothing to stop it…
You tried, Sam. But, perhaps, Sire stared hard at the kid. You weren't meant to.
Even I felt a jolt of surprise at that. What?
This whole charade, Tobius lifted his head, his large snout sweeping round the room, was designed to bring you down, Sam. To demoralise and bury you in your own guilt.
The wolf regarded the youngster. And it's working. He paused, then said pointedly, Isn't it?
His voice in our heads was soft but menacing, sending chills scurrying up and down our spines.
Sire crept forward and pressed his snout to Sam's ear, huffing gently.
There will likely be many more innocent deaths before this is over, Sam, for that is the nature of war.
He stepped back again, head held high, ears tall and straight. And there are no two ways about it, this is war. We do what we can, save as many as possible, and hope that one day it'll be worth the price we all paid.
Sire sure has a way with words, which was why I had no objections when Tobius took over and offered Sam his counsel. I couldn't have put it better myself.
Sam dropped his chin, hair falling over his face and hiding him from us. We waited for his response, knowing it wouldn't be easy for him, but praying for his acceptance.
Fact is, Tobius is right.
In an ideal world, we'd all be the best of friends, no one would get hurt, or die, or kill, or have to go to war to protect that which we hold dear. Sammy, unfortunately, still lives with the dream that one day the world would be at peace, filled with love and blue birds and flowers, probably with puppies and kittens playing together in sunlit meadows.
I sound harsh.
I don't mean to.
It's a wonderful idea and no one could wish for it as much as I do but, like Sire, I'm a realist. Humans are animals at the end of the day.
Very intelligent animals, admittedly, but still with the good old fashioned primal animal instincts.
Hunting, killing, protecting, feeding, fighting, and fucking.
Bluntly put, but true. And you know it.
Dress up in fancy Armani suits, with Italian leather shoes, and hold your wine glass correctly, making factual conversation with some limp wristed prick with more money than sense about share prices, and who will be the next president… but you can't hide what you really are.
At least, not from us.
You also know that you guys are territorial as hell, and that's a big part of the world's problem, right? And it's probably a trait you inherited from the likes of us.
Now, you can repress all those instincts as much as you want, shoe horn them into some daydream semblance of civilised behavior, and pretend you're different from the rest of the animal kingdom, but the plain fact of the matter is, you're only making things worse for yourselves.
'Cos something's gotta give.
Sire once described it like a volcano; for years it sits, seemingly dormant, but something is building up inside, hot, pulsing, angry. It has to relieve the pressure every now and then, so it blows it top, causing devastation and destruction for miles around, scattering hot ash and spilling lava, releasing all the crap that's built up from years of repression. When it's fulfilled its task, it settles back down for another long sleep… until the next time.
War is kinda like that for you humans, I guess. At least, that's the way werewolves see it.
War is the volcano of the human psyche. You guys have got millions of years of primal instinct working against you and your civilized ideals. And that's just for starters.
Then you add an extra few ingredients into the already boiling, swirling, gut churning mix: religion, racial hatred, greed, cruelty, revenge, and that good ol' classic politics - probably the most lethal of all, and likely encompasses everything that's evil and slimy in the world. Suddenly, you have all the excuses in the world to hurt each other.
So in the face of all that, can you look at yourself in the mirror, and see an end to it all?
Or would you dig deep, face reality, and honestly accept that the concept of 'world peace' is little more than a pipedream?
No? Didn't think so. And if it's any consolation, I don't really blame you.
'Cos whilst Sammy was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, tears drying on his face, I could still see that light in his eyes. And it's that same light I see in you humans, that keeps you going, that amazing final instinct, the one that forms the basis of your determination and humanity.
Hope.
And no. I can't take that away from Sammy, at least, not just yet. No doubt that'll come later, but for now I have to let him believe.
But in the meantime...
Sam finally raised his head and nodded, sadly, but I held my breath awaiting his decision. As always, he didn't disappoint us.
We do what we can.
~
Chapter Six