Lobo Love Ch.1 | PG-13 | werewolf!Sam/Dean
Title: Lobo Love
Author: lackadaisy
Pairing: werewolf!Sam/Dean
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,529
Notes: This isn't entirely 'AU' in the sense that the over-all plot of the entire show doesn't exist (like the demon and so on), it just sorta happily skirts around it and leaves it in the background. I love the plotline of the cannon-show, I do, but I love /watching/ it, not writing it. Makes my brain go nuts. So anyways, just roll with it? :3
This story /starts/ in season one, sometime between episode 5 'bloody mary' and episode 6 'skin'.
Lobo Love
Ch.1 - Ignorant
They'd done everything right, Dean thought, they'd gone into the situation more prepared than they'd been for a case in a long time. Of course, that meant that Murphy's Law absolutely had to come into play to screw them over. It was beyond unfair, it was just cruel. So far the hunt had been mindlessly easy, and that was saying something considering they were tracking a whole pack of werewolves. Sam and Dean had arrived in town a good two weeks before the full moon. A friend of a friend of their Dad's had called them in to pick up the job because he had pressing family concerns to attend to. He provided them with all of the information he had on the werewolves in the area, where their hunting grounds were, who he suspected they were during the rest of the month, and so on. So far the grizzled old hunter, a man by the name of Stephen, had managed to track down and waste three out of the total five he'd found in the town.
Of course the brothers did some of their own research, just to double check things, knowing in their line of work that you could never be too prepared. Now, there they were, one werewolf down, one to go, and damn it, Dean had no clue where Sam was and he wasn't answering his phone. The full moon was only really 'full' for one day out of the month, but it looked full for three days, and for some reason that seemed to be enough for the creatures to turn at around midnight. It was the last of the three days, and Dean didn't want to stick around another whole month just for one wolf. He knew he would do whatever it took to finish the job, of course, given that he'd told Stephen he would, and even if it was long-winded, he was a contact of their Dad. They may have their faults, but if there was one thing anyone could say about the Winchesters was they kept their word, and they were loyal to the extreme. They'd finish this job no matter what.
Dean felt like one big bruise, and damnably useless as he tried to call Sam for the millionth time. He was walking stiffly, having run down a dark alley and twisted his ankle in a pothole, regained his footing and stupidly kept sprinting with it for several blocks. The adrenaline was keeping him moving, keeping him ignorant of the pain he'd be feeling once he found his brother and they were both safe. It also made his heartbeat pound in his ears, his skin crawl, and the edges of his vision full of stars. The call went straight to voice mail as it had every time he'd called in the past while, and Dean swore, shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket.
He had to calm down, he had to focus. Finding Sammy was his first priority and he couldn't do that if he wasn't thinking straight. Dean ran his shaking, bloodied hands through his sweat soaked hair and stumbled blearily through the back-alley's he'd been in all night long. He dragged his eyes over his surroundings, walking too fast for his dead ankle, trying to figure out where the wolf might have taken him. He was assuming of course his little brother had been beaten senseless and carried away to have his heart eaten. Not the most flattering of thoughts, of course, but Dean had learned to expect the worst case scenario first and then work from there.
The end of town they were in was seedy at best, and it was only barely lit by the full moon that was causing their problem to begin with. The buildings were all old brick with moss and ivy and grime encrusted so deep they'd never be entirely clean again. Everything in this district was shut down, except for the odd apartment building that was still running but really shouldn't be. That left plenty of empty warehouses, old rundown homes, and condemned structures for a werewolf to be hiding out, feasting on his brother's internal organs. Dean rammed the heel of his hand into the side of his head a few times, as if shaking water out of his ears, just to stop that train of thought. It made him dizzy with rage and fear, which didn't help him one bit.
As he walked, Dean pulled out his flashlight and the marked up map of the town that Stephen had presented them with two weeks ago. He'd identified one particular building as the den of the wolves he'd already wasted. It was just a small, one-story home that was closer towards the respectable side of town, and had only been officially condemned for about a month or two. The only wolf left had, as far as Stephen knew, never taken up roost in the place whenever she turned, but at this point, it was Dean's best shot. It was several blocks away, maybe a mile even, so Dean started running.
Whenever his ankle started protesting, or the stitch in his side grew unbearable, Dean made himself conjure up the images he'd pushed away only moments ago, of Sam as werewolf fodder. The adrenaline would return full force, and his pain would fade for that much longer. Coming upon the house, Dean tried to control the shaking in his hand. He didn't want to aim for the bitch and miss due to some spasms he was having. A broken ankle, maybe some cracked ribs, he'd had worse.
Dean knew that most sane people would not be flooded with relief upon hearing ferocious snarling and growling. But Dean wasn't sure that he'd ever had any chance at sanity with the way he'd been brought up. He approached the house, trying to listen for Sam. His worry warped into panic when he continued to hear only the werewolf's growling.
Suddenly, as he was just outside the front door the noise stopped and he knew that the wolf had probably heard him all the way down the street, but for some reason it hadn't bothered with him. That wasn't all that comforting, and ultimately was the final straw. Dean kicked the front door clean off its hinges and stormed into the house. He didn't have to look far. Sam was lying on the floor, and limp, eyes closed, with the she-wolf crouched over him. As soon as he saw her, he didn't hesitate, his finger pulling back the trigger several times, not satisfied until he saw the creature fall to the side and away from his brother. Dean sped forward and shoved the werewolf away with his good foot, and then, despite how clearly dead the thing was, shot it a few more times, just to let off some steam.
Then Dean was on the floor, kneeling down next to Sam, ear pressed to his chest, and there it was, a heartbeat. There weren't any obvious outward signs of injury, but that never meant anything. Sam was breathing slow and deep, almost like he was sleeping. Dean tried to shake him awake, but Sam was clearly too out of it, and he gave up. He fumbled with Sam's deadweight, for a few moment's not entirely sure he'd be able to get him out of there. Soon enough, however, he had him in a fireman's carry and was trudging out of the house, trying to backtrack in his mind to where they parked the impala.
As it turned out, it was a two mile walk to the car, and then a half hour drive back to the motel. He was glad for the late hour, seeing as it meant he received fewer stares for carrying Sam over his shoulder. When he managed to get the door shut and set Sam on his bed, Dean was starting to feel his own injuries. He ignored them as usual, seeing to Sammy first.
Dean had expected all the scratches, both deep and shallow, and the bruising. Nearly all of Sam's wounds were minor and easy enough to patch up, except one. Dean's eyes were glued, wide as saucers, to the deep, unmistakeable bite mark on Sam's shoulders. No...
Author: lackadaisy
Pairing: werewolf!Sam/Dean
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,529
Notes: This isn't entirely 'AU' in the sense that the over-all plot of the entire show doesn't exist (like the demon and so on), it just sorta happily skirts around it and leaves it in the background. I love the plotline of the cannon-show, I do, but I love /watching/ it, not writing it. Makes my brain go nuts. So anyways, just roll with it? :3
This story /starts/ in season one, sometime between episode 5 'bloody mary' and episode 6 'skin'.
Lobo Love
Ch.1 - Ignorant
They'd done everything right, Dean thought, they'd gone into the situation more prepared than they'd been for a case in a long time. Of course, that meant that Murphy's Law absolutely had to come into play to screw them over. It was beyond unfair, it was just cruel. So far the hunt had been mindlessly easy, and that was saying something considering they were tracking a whole pack of werewolves. Sam and Dean had arrived in town a good two weeks before the full moon. A friend of a friend of their Dad's had called them in to pick up the job because he had pressing family concerns to attend to. He provided them with all of the information he had on the werewolves in the area, where their hunting grounds were, who he suspected they were during the rest of the month, and so on. So far the grizzled old hunter, a man by the name of Stephen, had managed to track down and waste three out of the total five he'd found in the town.
Of course the brothers did some of their own research, just to double check things, knowing in their line of work that you could never be too prepared. Now, there they were, one werewolf down, one to go, and damn it, Dean had no clue where Sam was and he wasn't answering his phone. The full moon was only really 'full' for one day out of the month, but it looked full for three days, and for some reason that seemed to be enough for the creatures to turn at around midnight. It was the last of the three days, and Dean didn't want to stick around another whole month just for one wolf. He knew he would do whatever it took to finish the job, of course, given that he'd told Stephen he would, and even if it was long-winded, he was a contact of their Dad. They may have their faults, but if there was one thing anyone could say about the Winchesters was they kept their word, and they were loyal to the extreme. They'd finish this job no matter what.
Dean felt like one big bruise, and damnably useless as he tried to call Sam for the millionth time. He was walking stiffly, having run down a dark alley and twisted his ankle in a pothole, regained his footing and stupidly kept sprinting with it for several blocks. The adrenaline was keeping him moving, keeping him ignorant of the pain he'd be feeling once he found his brother and they were both safe. It also made his heartbeat pound in his ears, his skin crawl, and the edges of his vision full of stars. The call went straight to voice mail as it had every time he'd called in the past while, and Dean swore, shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket.
He had to calm down, he had to focus. Finding Sammy was his first priority and he couldn't do that if he wasn't thinking straight. Dean ran his shaking, bloodied hands through his sweat soaked hair and stumbled blearily through the back-alley's he'd been in all night long. He dragged his eyes over his surroundings, walking too fast for his dead ankle, trying to figure out where the wolf might have taken him. He was assuming of course his little brother had been beaten senseless and carried away to have his heart eaten. Not the most flattering of thoughts, of course, but Dean had learned to expect the worst case scenario first and then work from there.
The end of town they were in was seedy at best, and it was only barely lit by the full moon that was causing their problem to begin with. The buildings were all old brick with moss and ivy and grime encrusted so deep they'd never be entirely clean again. Everything in this district was shut down, except for the odd apartment building that was still running but really shouldn't be. That left plenty of empty warehouses, old rundown homes, and condemned structures for a werewolf to be hiding out, feasting on his brother's internal organs. Dean rammed the heel of his hand into the side of his head a few times, as if shaking water out of his ears, just to stop that train of thought. It made him dizzy with rage and fear, which didn't help him one bit.
As he walked, Dean pulled out his flashlight and the marked up map of the town that Stephen had presented them with two weeks ago. He'd identified one particular building as the den of the wolves he'd already wasted. It was just a small, one-story home that was closer towards the respectable side of town, and had only been officially condemned for about a month or two. The only wolf left had, as far as Stephen knew, never taken up roost in the place whenever she turned, but at this point, it was Dean's best shot. It was several blocks away, maybe a mile even, so Dean started running.
Whenever his ankle started protesting, or the stitch in his side grew unbearable, Dean made himself conjure up the images he'd pushed away only moments ago, of Sam as werewolf fodder. The adrenaline would return full force, and his pain would fade for that much longer. Coming upon the house, Dean tried to control the shaking in his hand. He didn't want to aim for the bitch and miss due to some spasms he was having. A broken ankle, maybe some cracked ribs, he'd had worse.
Dean knew that most sane people would not be flooded with relief upon hearing ferocious snarling and growling. But Dean wasn't sure that he'd ever had any chance at sanity with the way he'd been brought up. He approached the house, trying to listen for Sam. His worry warped into panic when he continued to hear only the werewolf's growling.
Suddenly, as he was just outside the front door the noise stopped and he knew that the wolf had probably heard him all the way down the street, but for some reason it hadn't bothered with him. That wasn't all that comforting, and ultimately was the final straw. Dean kicked the front door clean off its hinges and stormed into the house. He didn't have to look far. Sam was lying on the floor, and limp, eyes closed, with the she-wolf crouched over him. As soon as he saw her, he didn't hesitate, his finger pulling back the trigger several times, not satisfied until he saw the creature fall to the side and away from his brother. Dean sped forward and shoved the werewolf away with his good foot, and then, despite how clearly dead the thing was, shot it a few more times, just to let off some steam.
Then Dean was on the floor, kneeling down next to Sam, ear pressed to his chest, and there it was, a heartbeat. There weren't any obvious outward signs of injury, but that never meant anything. Sam was breathing slow and deep, almost like he was sleeping. Dean tried to shake him awake, but Sam was clearly too out of it, and he gave up. He fumbled with Sam's deadweight, for a few moment's not entirely sure he'd be able to get him out of there. Soon enough, however, he had him in a fireman's carry and was trudging out of the house, trying to backtrack in his mind to where they parked the impala.
As it turned out, it was a two mile walk to the car, and then a half hour drive back to the motel. He was glad for the late hour, seeing as it meant he received fewer stares for carrying Sam over his shoulder. When he managed to get the door shut and set Sam on his bed, Dean was starting to feel his own injuries. He ignored them as usual, seeing to Sammy first.
Dean had expected all the scratches, both deep and shallow, and the bruising. Nearly all of Sam's wounds were minor and easy enough to patch up, except one. Dean's eyes were glued, wide as saucers, to the deep, unmistakeable bite mark on Sam's shoulders. No...