Creative Imperative

TITLE: Cry Wolf (Part Five)
SERIES: Cry Wolf can be considered a sequel to my SPN fic Family Values but it's not necessary to read that first.
RATING: Adults Only
FANDOM: The Sentinel/Supernatural Crossover
CATEGORY: Crossover, Horror...see story notes.
PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, Dean/Sam, Dean/OFC

Previous Chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

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Cry Wolf

Part Five

Dean hurried toward Erin. In the afternoon sun, her auburn hair was like flames against the snow. He was smiling as he reached her - the easy, practiced smile he always used with the girls.

Erin waved. "Hi, Dean! I was just thinking about you."

What an opening! Dean's smile widened. "Must be fate. Good thoughts, I hope."

"Maybe." She smiled flirtatiously, all huge green eyes and long lashes. "Are we going to see you at Beanies tonight?"

A world of yes! was the reply Dean wanted to give. Unfortunately... "Uh, maybe for an hour, but...well, my brother has plans for us tonight. I tried to talk him out of it, but..."

"You always do what your brother says?"

"Nope." Dean couldn't help glancing over toward his brother. Sam had reached the bottom of the rockslide and was starting to climb. He was well out of earshot, so Dean, improvising quickly, said to Erin, "Sam has some problems, you see. This vacation is supposed to help him but it's hard to leave him at night. Maybe in a few days..." It was a decent enough cover story, but Sam was gonna kill him. What the hell.

Erin's expression was sympathetic. "Shame. I was looking forward to...a drink." She said drink as if she meant something much more fun.

Dean dug into his pocket for the small hip-flask of whiskey he carried. "Me too," he agreed, offering her the flask.

Erin laughed, a merry sound that reached deep inside Dean, warming parts of him the whiskey hadn't yet reached. She took the flask from him and drank. She offered it back to him with a smile and Dean deliberately brushed his fingers over hers as he took it back. She held on to the flask longer than necessary, her hand warm beneath his touch.

Dean took a swig from the flask and pocketed it. He raised a hand to her face, leaning in as if he planned to kiss her, though he didn't, not yet. Just testing the waters. He touched her cheek. "You decided then," he suggested. "About that affair."

She leaned in to his touch. Her smile was dazzling. "Depends."

"On what?"

"Apparently, on your brother. I'm not into threesomes." She looked past Dean, her smile fading. "You should tell him to be careful, Dean. If he falls from there...well, people have died before."

Dean let his hand fall, turning to stand beside her and watch Sam. "He won't fall," he said confidently, but her concern gave him an opening to ask further questions. "Seems a lot of people die around here," Dean tried.

Erin became very serious. "It seems that way. Tourists can be such idiots. We always have a few bodies turn up in the summer."

That was probably true, Dean thought. "Jean wasn't a tourist," he said thoughtfully.

Erin moved a few steps away from him. "No, she wasn't," she answered quietly. Dean watched her for a moment. Erin looked back at Dean. "Do you think...?" she began, then fell silent.

Dean moved up to her side again and was surprised when she took his hand. He liked it, though. Her hand felt tiny and delicate within his. "What is it?" he asked gently.

Erin shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Erin, do you know something? About Jean?"

"What's it to you? You're just on vacation."

Dean hesitated. "I'm...curious," he began, but that sounded idiotic even to him. He tried again. "Erin, look. I'm on vacation now, you're right, but when I'm not on vacation I'm with the FBI. I'm getting the feeling there's something going on here I should know about. Do you know something?"

Her eyes went wide. "You're a cop?"

"Federal agent, yeah."

"Prove it," she said, but it sounded more like a plea than a challenge.

Dean sighed. "My ID is in my car, back at the farm," he told her truthfully. "If you really need to see it I'll show you next time we meet." He squeezed her hand. "Erin," he asked again, "do you know something? If you tell me, I can help."

He released her hand and stripped off his jacket, laying it down on the snow-covered hillside. With a gesture he invited her to sit and when she did, he joined her, positioning himself so he could keep an eye on Sam while they talked. Dean put an arm around Erin's shoulders and she leaned into his body.

"It's not about Jean," she said in a small voice.

"You can tell me," Dean told her encouragingly.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

Dean shrugged, fighting to keep his expression neutral. She did know something. She'd seen something. "No, sweetheart, you don't seem crazy to me."

She cuddled closer to him. "Well...I live up there." She pointed to a gap in the trees. "There's a great view of the creek from my bedroom. One night last summer I was looking out and I saw..." she broke off.

"What did you see?"

"There was someone running. And this...this thing following behind. Chasing him, I think."

"Do you know what this thing was?"

She shook her head. "I thought it was a wolf, but I've never seen one that big. It was twice, three times the size of a wolf. They ran down there..." Erin pointed toward the frozen river, "and I lost sight of them in the bushes. Then...oh, I can't believe I'm telling you this! Then...a few minutes later I saw a person leave the bushes. Never saw the thing...animal...whatever it was, leave. But the next day they found a body down there. A man." She looked up at him, her expression scared. "It's crazy, right?"

For a moment, looking into Erin's scared eyes, Dean wanted to tell her it wasn't crazy at all, it was exactly what he'd known was happening. But to be truthful about this was crazy. He pretended to consider her question seriously. "A man and an animal go in, a man walks out and a dead man is left behind. Are you sure that's what you saw, Erin?"

"I'm not crazy. I'm not! And I didn't imagine it!"

"I've heard stranger stories," Dean said slowly, pretending he didn't want to believe it. "Do you know who the dead man was?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't a local. It was a Scottish name. MacAndrew or something...I don't remember."

McAdam. Dean remembered the name. One of the possible werewolf victims he'd listed for Sam before they came here. "You think Jean was killed by the same thing, don't you?"

She pulled away from him, looking at him in astonishment. "You believe me?"

"I believe you saw something. And," he added grimly, "I'm going to find out what it was."

"Thank you! Oh, thank you!" Erin turned her face up and Dean just couldn't help himself. He kissed her. She came into his arms and the kiss escalated fast. Erin was hot and eager against his body and damn if Dean wasn't hard as a rock in seconds. If it wasn't so cold he would have lain her down right then and there.

*****

Sam reached the top of the rockslide and turned to look back at his brother, wiping sweat from his brow. It was quite a climb, but the way up wasn't too icy. They'd be able to make it.

He saw Dean. He blinked, not quite sure he could believe his eyes. Sam was rock climbing and Dean was having a make-out session. Fuck, Dean, can't you ever quit? You're supposed to have my back, dude. God, the girl was practically giving him a lapdance!

Sam dragged his gaze away from his brother and dragged his mind back to the job at hand. From where he stood Sam had a perfect view of the area: the creek, the woods and the pathway. The broken boulders at the top would be adequate shelter. It was the best spot.

Sam looked up at the sky. It would be dark in four, maybe five hours: that left plenty of time for them to go back, eat supper and load up with silver bullets.

If Dean didn't need to get a room first.

*****

"I'm just sayin'. Don't you think it's convenient that she told you exactly what we most needed to know?"

Dean frowned at him. "She was scared, dude. She needed someone to trust." He grinned proudly. "That was me."

Dean propped the Impala's trunk open and reached inside for a handgun. He popped the clip out and replaced it with silver bullets. Sam watched him before doing the same thing. He checked the safety and pushed the gun through his belt. Then he zipped up his jacket, concealing the gun.

"You best keep that in reach, dude," Dean advised.

It took Sam right back to his early lessons from their dad: a gun is useless if you're still trying to draw while the bad guy slits your throat. Either wear it for a fast draw, or don't waste your time packing.

"I'll open the jacket when we're clear of people," Sam said. He took a blade from the trunk, too, as a backup weapon, though if he got close enough to need it he was going to be in serious trouble. A werewolf bite could have major lifestyle consequences.

Beside him, Dean was packing as much as he could carry, including a pair of throwing knives.

Werewolf. It was a long time since Sam last hunted a werewolf. Their dad claimed they were one of the easier supernatural beasts to hunt, because in wolf form they think like an animal, not a person. To Sam, that wasn't comforting. A ghost or a wendigo will kill you, but it won't try to make you what it is. There was no magical protection you could use against a werewolf; no circle it couldn't cross, no spell to protect you from its bite. Some humans seemed to have a natural immunity, but you wouldn't know if you were one of them until it was too late. Silver was a werewolf's only weakness.

Dean slapped Sam on the back and handed him a flashlight. "You ready, soldier?"

Sam nodded. "Ready."

*****

Blair stood at the bedroom window, gazing out into the night. There was no moon yet, but it would rise soon. He could feel Jim behind him before Jim's hands slipped around his waist and Jim hugged him close from behind, resting his chin on Blair's shoulder.

"You okay, Chief?"

In answer, Blair leaned back into Jim's body. The heat of Jim's chest against Blair's bare back warmed him, reminding him of their recent lovemaking. Jim kissed his neck, breathing in Blair's scent and it made Blair smile.

"You should follow them, Jim."

"I should be with you," Jim answered firmly.

"They need your protection more than I do, man." Blair turned around in Jim's arms, looking up into his eyes.

Jim's arms tightened around Blair's waist. "I'm not so sure. Jeanie was killed very near to us, Chief. It's coming closer every time."

"Good!" Blair answered fiercely. He meant it. They'd lived with this...this thing for too long. Blair wanted to see the face of his enemy. He was ready for it. But he fretted about the Winchesters. Sam and Dean were unprepared. "Jim, they don't know what they're up against. Please, man."

"Are you sure?" Jim kissed him again.

If that was supposed to tempt Blair to come back to bed, it couldn't work. Not tonight. Blair nodded. "I'm sure."

Jim released him, then, going over to the closet. "Okay. Blair, while I'm gone..."

"I'll be careful," Blair promised, still gazing out into the night. The first slivers of moonlight were visible behind the mountain. Behind him, Jim was dressing. Blair pulled on a pair of pants and pushed his feet into shoes without bothering with socks. He looked back at Jim who was tying on his combat boots.

The things unsaid hung between them. Blair almost spoke, but the words stuck in his throat. As understanding as Jim was, this was one thing they rarely talked about directly.

Blair left the room without saying goodbye. He knew Jim would do as he asked.

He walked past the stable to the storage sheds. The first was their hay store. He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. He did not turn on a light. The bales of hay were stacked chest-high in neat rows, allowing Blair to move between them. Against the rear wall was a wooden chest; this, Blair opened. He stripped off his clothing, placing everything neatly in the chest.

Nude, Blair turned toward the doorway, looking up at the sky. The almost-full moon was high and he'd held on for too long. He could wait no longer.

Blair fell to his knees in the hay. The first threads of the Change always made him nauseous; it was anticipation of the pain. He balled up his fists in the hay and gritted his teeth as his bones began to shift and stretch. The sound of his joints popping and reforming was loud in his ears and somehow Blair did not cry out. His skin burned and split open in great long gashes. Not blood but fur poured out of those unnatural wounds, sliding over him like liquid, engulfing his body. That pain tore a cry of agony from him, a scream that became less and less human. The pain of the Change was less than it used to be, but it would never be pain-free. Blair's jaw elongated, teeth moving and growing and Blair's scream became a howl.

Finally, it was over. Where a man once knelt, there lay a huge, grey wolf, but it was still Blair. Blair sat back on his haunches in the hay, panting hard. The Change always left him weak, for a moment or two.

Outside, the forest and the hills were bathed in moonlight. They called to Blair. Recovering, he yipped excitedly, forgetting the enemy out there, forgetting the brothers, forgetting even Jim. He forgot everything except the life of the forest out there, where he belonged. He bounded out of the shed into the snow.

It was time to hunt.

*****

Jim found the brothers easily.

Unlike them, he was dressed for the terrain: all in black so he couldn't be seen against the trees. Jim was armed: a knife strapped to his thigh and a gun in a shoulder holster. His gun was loaded with steel, not silver, bullets.

The Winchesters weren't complete amateurs, Jim noted. They'd done their research, identifying the creek as the most likely location to find this creature. Their vantage point was well-chosen: above the rockslide where they could see most of the creek, and they were staying put. Maybe they didn't need as much protection as Blair feared.

They didn't have Jim's advantage, though. He chose a spot behind the tree line and settled down to wait, extending his senses throughout the area. Jim was aware of wildlife all around them, but there was no sign of the creature, or of any people except himself and the Winchesters.

Jim did not expect to encounter the creature tonight, but part of him hoped they would. The brothers made good bait.

He'd taken Jeanie Marsden's death personally. In part it was because the attack on her happened so close to Stonehaven Lodge that Jim should have heard it; maybe he couldn't have saved her, but he hadn't tried. He and Blair had been tracking this thing for over six years: ever since they took over the farm. They were no closer to finding it, no closer, even to knowing what it was. Jim didn't like using a pair of innocents as bait, and he would protect them if it came to that, but he was ready to consider it. He wanted this thing dead before it killed again.

Jim heard the distant howl of a wolf and smiled grimly to himself.

*****

Sitting around wasn't much of a plan.

Dean unscrewed the hip flask he was carrying and took a mouthful of whiskey. He offered the flask to Sam, who took it. He heard the distant howl of a wolf and looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "It's a long way off. Could be a real wolf."

Dean nodded. There was a difference between a werewolf's howl and that of a natural wolf, but he'd never been able to tell them apart without hearing both. "Yeah, could be," he agreed.

Sam was rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Dude, we've been here for hours. Maybe we should try someplace else."

Dean checked his watch. It was past midnight. "Got a better plan, Sammy? I'm listening."

"The werewolf is going to be hunting, right? They have a compulsion to kill. So unless there are people around, it'll go looking for a sheep or deer or something."

"Yeah." Dean took back his flask and pocketed it. "You want to head into the woods?"

"Well, I don't think it's gonna just wander our way."

Sam was right, and Dean stood to lead the way up the hill. They had to stay within sight of the town lights, though. The woodland stretched on for many miles and there was a real danger of getting lost in there. They walked cautiously, Dean checking the ground ahead by flashlight. It was very dark beneath the trees and the snow was much more sparse.

Once, Dean thought he heard a sound behind them and he whirled, gun in hand, his flashlight searching the darkness. But there was nothing there.

It was nearly 3am when they heard it. Dean reached out a hand to stop Sam, but it wasn't necessary. Sam heard it, too. The sound was growling, grunting...some kind of predator. They looked at each other. Dean drew his gun and moved toward the sound.

The first thing he saw was the fallen deer. The wolf was lost in the shadow until it moved. The sheer size proved it was a werewolf; no natural wolf grew so large. It seemed unaware of them, its bloody jaws buried in the guts of its kill.

Dean signalled Sam to circle around, just in case. Sam hesitated. It was too dark for Dean to see Sam's expression and if either of them spoke they would alert the wolf. He signalled again and this time Sam obeyed.

The wolf looked up suddenly. Its eyes met Dean's and it growled. Dean took aim at its heart. It wasn't going to kill anyone else.

He began to squeeze down on the trigger.

A shout came from behind him and something slammed into Dean's back. The gun in his hand went off and he heard the wolf yelp in pain even as he fell. Someone was on him, wrestling him to the ground and it wasn't Sam. Dean struck out at his assailant. Whoever it was, he was ready for Dean's reaction. Dean found himself on his back, held down, the man straddling his body as he twisted the gun from Dean's hand. It was then Dean recognised Jim Ellison as Jim released the clip from Dean's gun, letting it fall to the ground.

By then Sam was there, his gun steady in a two-handed grip, aimed at Jim's head. "Stop!" he ordered.

Ellison turned his head enough to look at Sam, still holding Dean down. "Put the gun down, kid. You're not going to shoot me."

Ellison sounded very confident but Dean wasn't so sure. He believed Sam would shoot to protect Dean. Dean would kill to protect him. But now Sam's hands were shaking around the gun. Killing a person, someone they knew, wasn't easy.

"Let Dean go," Sam ordered. His aim never wavered.

Dean craned his neck to see where the werewolf had gone. There was no sign of it. Damn! He hadn't killed the wolf. He'd wounded it. Now it would be ten times more dangerous. "Where's the werewolf?" he asked.

Sam, never taking his eyes off Jim, answered, "You wounded it, Dean. We've got to go after it."

Dean agreed. As Jim started to get off him, slowly, Dean reached toward the clip Jim had dropped from his gun. Jim kicked it away and threw the gun far into the shadows.

"You're not going anywhere," Jim announced.

"I'm the one with the gun," Sam reminded him. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Jim was on his feet now. He took a step toward Sam. "I have a better idea than you do. If you go after that wolf, you'll have to go through me." He reached out and covered Sam's hands with his own. "You're not a killer, are you, Sam?"

"That werewolf is," Dean said. He moved to stand beside his brother.

Jim shook his head, taking the gun from Sam's hands. "No, he's not."

"Oh, my god," Sam whispered. "You know who it is."

At that, Jim's expression changed. "I know who you are, too," he said coldly. "You kids playing Van Helsing in the woods - don't you care that a werewolf is a person twenty eight days out of the month?"

Dean answered, "It's not a person. It just looks like one."

He saw the punch coming, but too late to avoid it. The next thing he knew he was waking up with a bitch of a headache and Sam leaning over him, saying his name over and over.

*****

By the time Jim reached the barn, the sweat was soaking through his shirt and sweater. "Blair?" he called out breathlessly, but he already knew Blair was inside. He could smell the blood.

Jim made his way through the bales and found Blair at the back, hidden behind the stacked hay. Blair had made an attempt to dress - he was wearing pants - but the pants were covered with the blood that still flowed from his right arm. He was cradling the arm against his body, moaning in pain.

"Oh, god, Blair..." Jim knelt down beside him. He stripped off his coat and laid is across Blair's shoulders, then held him close. "It's okay, Blair. You'll be okay."

Blair cuddled close to him, giving no answer but another moan, muffled against Jim's chest.

"Let me see, love," Jim urged. He had to stop hugging Blair to move around him and look at the arm. Blair allowed him to straighten his wounded arm. Jim examined the wound as best he could, with a light touch but mostly with his sentinel vision.

"It's silver," Blair said, his voice very quiet.

Jim answered, "I know. Chief, the bullet is still in there."

Blair nodded.

"Can you walk? We've got to get that out of you."

Blair nodded again and Jim helped him to stand. He had to half-carry Blair into the house.

In their bathroom, Jim sat Blair on the edge of the tub. In the bathroom cupboard he had everything he needed: gauze, bandages and a sterile scalpel. He cleaned the worst of the blood away with some gauze and then began to tear open the sterile packaging of the scalpel. He looked at Blair. He was pale, but he seemed okay. Surprisingly okay, all things considered. No signs of shock.

Jim gripped Blair's arm at the elbow. "I'm sorry, love, but this is going to hurt."

Blair spoke through gritted teeth. "No, man. It can't hurt worse than it does already. Get it out of me, Jim."

Jim nodded, understanding, and began to cut into his lover's flesh.

Part Six