Down the Rabbit Hole [On Hold]

Part One: A Living Nightmare

Dean shifted on the bed. The sounds of the night seemed muffled and far away, though he could distinctly hear the faint hoot of a night bird. Its cry echoed around the walls of the dank motel room.

Damn bird.

The wind whistled through the trees that twisted and swayed just beyond the window sill, like gnarled terrors moaning and lurking in the night. Their shadows were veiled by the thin curtain, casting an ominous feel about the place. Dean propped himself on his elbows. Nightmares swam to the surface of his mind and the eerie silhouettes around him seemed to come alive. Shadows lurking in the corners took form, morphing into a vision of teeth and claws. Dean's lips tightened and he turned to face the other side of the room. He wouldn't let the nightmares get to him here. More importantly, he wouldn't let them get to Sam.

His eyes trailed over the sleeping form of his brother on the opposite bed. Curled into a tight ball, Sam slept peacefully enough, his head buried deep in his pillow. Dean couldn't suppress the tired grin that crossed his mouth. No, nothing would hurt Sam here. Not while Dean was on watch. He knew with every fiber of his being that he would be there to protect his kid brother no matter what. There would be no nightmares to deal with tonight.

Something solid struck the window and Dean jumped, a silver dagger sliding into his hand as he dragged it from under his pillow. He sprang into a crouch atop the bed, his limbs tense and poised. Sam slept soundly on, unknowing and uncaring. Dean's blood pounded in his ears and not for the first time that night he wished more than ever his father were here. If the werewolf pack had found them, they were in big trouble. Dean drew in a breath to steady himself. He would feel a lot safer knowing that  Dad had his back. There wasn't a creature alive could best his father, Dean was sure of it. One day he would be a hunter just like John. He would be strong and swift, able to take on any number of monsters all at once. He would be the best hunter there ever was.

But his father wasn't here, and he wasn't grown up. His pride dwindled as the creaks and moans of night sounded around him and fear growled in the pit of his stomach. The werewolf pack could be anywhere. Bitter as it was, Dean had to admit that with his current training, he could maybe take on one or two and that was only if he caught them by surprise. He knew with unsettling certainty there was no way he'd even stand a chance against an entire pack.

Stop, you're scaring yourself.

He had to be strong. That's what Dad had taught him. Night changed many thoughts and he needn't be worried. Chances were, it wasn't an angry werewolf pack ready to tear him limb from limb. Dean squeezed his eyes shut then opened them, listening intently. For a moment, there was only the low hum of the generator but then he heard it. Dean froze as a low moan shivered around the room. It sounded dangerously like a growl.

His eyes riveted on the two entrances, alert for any signs of movement outside. He wasn't in the least surprised when he felt his body take over and he yielded to his instincts, creeping silently toward the window. Experience had honed his movements. He kept his blade close to his chest, ready to lash out at any sudden attack.

A dark shadow whipped against the glass as something else slammed against the window. Adrenaline pumped through his veins freezing the nerves that threatened to overwhelm him.

It's nothing but the wind. He told himself, though his imagination said otherwise. Keeping close to the wall, he drew the curtains back an inch and peered out the glass. A distorted image of himself reflected back at him though he couldn't see much beyond the blackness of the night.

Dean blinked. Had something darted past the window? A chill crept up the base of his spine and he hastily retreated. The wind had picked up and was steadily rising to an unearthly howl.