Dogtown

By Tidia & MOG, September 2006


Chapter 7/10

Night settled over Gloucester, and the boys returned to Dogtown. The natural lack of underbrush in the woods allowed their flashlight beams to cut deep into the darkness, where every sound and silhouette fell under suspicion.

A few minutes spent at the boulder where they’d initially encountered the old woman resulted in nothing more than an increase of Dean’s edginess. They should have felt some solace, being close to true civilization, but Dean’s guilt hung over him and Sam was worried about his brother.

Veering away from the roughly groomed paths, they sought more of the large rocks that bore the inspirational phrases that had seemingly grounded Emily.

“Stop it,” Dean hissed, while studying the shadowy areas that surrounded them.

“What?” Sam asked, trying to figure out what he’d done.

Dean looked back at his brother. “You’re breathing too loud.”

Sam let out an audible sigh. “So I should stop breathing?”

“It would help,” Dean drawled, with more than a hint of seriousness.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the reaction would be lost in the darkness. “I’ll see what I can do.” He deliberately inhaled loudly before puffing out his cheeks and pretending to hold his breath. He slowly let the air out through pursed lips, sounding like a deflating tire.

“Okay,” Dean conceded, adjusting the small pack on his back, “you can breathe - just do it quietly.”

“Dean, we’re in some haunted wood and we want to have a conversation with a mental patient….I get that you’re on edge but-” He cut himself off as Dean’s flashlight beam brushed over a boulder. “Hold up.” He swung the shotgun around to point his own light toward the large rock, but in the same instant he felt a distinct change in the air.

It was as if a thousand tiny spiders rushed up his arms and down his spine. His left hand supported the weight of the shotgun barrel, but the forearm felt heavy and encumbered due to the sheathed knife he’d strapped to it. He now doubted the practicality of bringing the blade if it was only going to impede his ability to fight.

A rough breeze pushed through, scattering leaves across the ground. The resulting uneven, harmonic whispers buzzed through Sam’s head.

Dean spun around, scanning the woods behind his brother. “Did you hear that?”

Sam turned also, raising the shotgun, but Dean’s hand on the back of his shirt tugged him toward the inspirational rock. Something moved through the forest toward them - slow and deliberate, a hunter stalking prey.

A low growl emanated from the darkness and the Mag light taped to the barrel of the shotgun illuminated a pair of red eyes. Sam nestled the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, drawing a bead on a familiar large, dark shape. Dean’s whisper and nudge, however, kept him from pulling the trigger.

“Looks like Old Yeller done sent a posse from the beyond.”

Sam looked to their right and, in the sweep of Dean’s flashlight, saw crimson eyes glowing amongst the trees.

With their backs to the large boulder, Dean tucked his Colt into the waist of his jeans and slowly eased the small pack from his back to remove a bottle of lighter fluid. He squirted a haphazard half-circle in a thick, wide arc before slipping his Zippo from his pocket.

“Just a thought here,” Sam said, as his brother crouched to light the fuel, “but, uh, you sure fire is going to keep demon dogs back?”

Dean stood and took a step back to stand beside his brother as the low flames devoured the combustible liquid. Shoulder to shoulder, they looked out into the dark, ready to face the siege.

“Maybe these demon dogs are part regular dog.” Dean sought assurances and pulled the Colt from his waistband. The creatures closed in, unfazed by the fire, and Dean could distinctly make out their forms. “Wishful fuckin’ thinking,” he muttered. “I see four.”

“Three on this side,” Sam returned. He stared down the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun and sited the closest beast. Its talon-like claws dug into the dirt as it lowered to a predatory crouch. It launched itself at Sam just as he pulled the trigger, letting loose a forceful spray of rock salt.

Beside him, Dean fired several rounds in quick succession and heard his target shriek when the consecrated bullets pierced its flesh. A second blast from the shotgun rang in his ears, competing with the noise from his own weapon. Three corpses lay on the forest floor; yet, even as one was struck down, another took its place.

“Damn,” Dean spat, “they’re like rabbits!” He fired again, burying four rounds deep into a mass of matted, black fur.

Turning, he saw his brother striking at one of the canines with the butt of his shotgun, while another breached the flames, clawing and snapping at Sam from behind. Dean assessed the proximity risk to his brother in a tenth of a second, then drove two bullets into the second beast’s skull. Warm blood splattered across his shirt and face but a harsh scream prevented him from thinking about it.

Sam yelled as the first dog sank its teeth into his right forearm, piercing the tender skin with sharp, yellowed fangs. Dean had no opportunity to react. A burning pain raked down his right side as another dog burst from the dark, and lashed out at him with razor-sharp talons.

Dean fell to his knees, collapsing against the boulder. He swung his .45 toward the creature and pulled the trigger, but only felt the dry-fire click of an empty chamber. The creature’s jaw snapped dangerously close to his right leg and he kicked wildly at it. His boot smashed against the beast’s wide chest, driving it back, while he dug into his jacket pocket for a second clip.

With his back to the large rock, Dean continued to lash out with forceful kicks at the attacking hound. It growled and snapped as he ejected the empty clip from his Colt and slammed the new one in. The tip of his boot connected solidly with the creature’s snout, knocking it sideways and affording him precious seconds to raise his pistol and fire the killing shots.

He’d had no time to focus on helping Sam fend off his own attacker. The younger Winchester had dropped the shotgun when the intense pain shot through his arm. Instinct took over - with his left hand, he aimed for the eyes and slammed a fierce palm strike to the canine’s face. It released its hold on his forearm and Sam instantly grabbed for the knife strapped to his other arm.

Red eyes flashed as the creature lunged in for another attack. Sam slashed at its face, hacking at the vulnerable area. It shrieked wildly and backed away, but the pain did little to deter it. Sam felt the hard stone of the boulder against his back and could only ready himself in a defensive position as the huge canine closed in.

Pistol fire cracked the night air, three shots followed by four more. Sam watched the beast before him stumble sideways as the second set of rounds from Dean’s Colt slammed into it. The Winchesters kept their focus locked on the beast until it dropped to the ground. The consecrated bullets reacted with the unholy flesh, dissolving the body down to little more than fetid slime.

Sam doubled over, gulping in air to work through the pain in his arm. The fight had smothered the small wall of flames that Dean had set, but the smell of lighter fluid still hung in the air and Sam couldn’t decide if he associated it with purification or the manifestation of evil.

He became aware of a warm wetness running down the back of his left leg and was not too surprised when the exhausted muscles gave way, dropping him to the ground beside his brother.

“I’m not carrying your ass back to the car,” Dean stated, holding a bloodied hand to his own side. Sam knew the comment was his brother’s way of finding out how he was doing, while also trying to alleviate the stress of the situation.

“Who said I needed help?” retorted Sam, through labored breath. He reached to retrieve the flashlight that Dean had dropped during the attack. Stretching out his injured leg, he examined the puncture wounds in his arm and tried to ignore the shaking of his hands as unspent adrenaline coursed through his body.

“You think these things have rabies?” he asked, wearily.

“Nah,” Dean replied, lifting his head away from where it rested against the boulder, “they’re evil dogs - a little holy water should fix everything.”

He hoped, however, that his freaky power could handle the viral disease, just in case. He struggled to his feet and looked out into the darkness.

“Can you sit tight for a bit?” he asked, glancing down at Sam. Dean didn’t want his brother to suffer, but Emily was still out there, and he had to face her.

“Not a problem.” Sam knew what was on his brother’s mind and understood the predicament. His academic mind analyzed the facts from a different angle. “You know, those dogs are probably the protector of the Queen of the Witches.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s gonna be too happy to find her pets like this.” Dean wrinkled his nose at a glistening streak of slime close to his boot. He determined, however, that he would battle one hundred of the demon dogs, if it meant he could right the wrong he’d committed against Emily.

He cursed himself for having gone along with Caleb’s original plan. He should have stood up to his father and the other hunter, instead of just acquiescing. He should have demanded respect instead of skirting around it.

He was shaken from his dark memories as Sam took in a deep breath, releasing it in a long sigh. The younger Winchester could see that his brother struggled with inner demons and he didn’t like the idea of Dean facing whatever was out in the night by himself.

“Help me up,” Sam ordered, holding out his uninjured arm.

Dean stared at his brother for several seconds and Sam responded aloud to the thoughts that he knew were running through Dean’s mind.

“I’m going with you; so you either help me stand up, or I’ll do it by myself and make you pay for it later.”

Dean shook his head and grabbed his brother’s arm, carefully pulling him to his feet. Sam swayed briefly before holding steady and Dean stayed nearby, until he was confident that his brother would remain upright.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly. An instant later, a breeze spun through the woods, rattling the tree branches overhead.

Dean winced against the pain in his side as he scooped up Sam’s knife and shotgun. He traded them for the flashlight that his brother held and moved to stand closer to the boulder. Sam cracked the shotgun open, pulled shells from his pocket, and exchanged them for the empty ones in the weapon. He and Dean were to be the beacon that would attract The Queen of the Witches and the innocent girl attached to her.