Supernatural One-Shots

Spilt Blood

Prompt:  Garth, Sam, and Dean are cornered by a pack of werewolves they were hoping to gang due to the wolves biting more people and gather recruits for something the Winchesters don’t know.  The pack turns out to be bigger than expected, and while the team manages to fight them off, though not to kill them all, one of the several hunters perish at the teeth of a wolf.

Sweat, in glistening streaks, ran down a young man’s face as he cut through a narrowing alleyway.  His stormy blue eyes were fastened at the corner up ahead of him and his tight cheekbones hollowed in and out as his breath exited his small frame.  His skinny arms, cladded in a one-size-too-big military jacket, pumped diligently beside him.  His legs propelled him forward in a smooth run; proving him to be surprisingly agile for his wiry build. 

The man skidded around the corner into a large warehouse and slammed his back against the wall that concealed him from whoever was pursing him.  Keeping his body pressed against the cold concrete, the young man’s two fingers pressed a radio headset and whispered in broken English, “Dean?  Sam?  Come in.  Dean?”

Static crackled in the earpiece for a moment before a rough, raspy voice came through.  “Garth?  How many more minutes?”

Holding the radio against his chest, Garth peered around the corner, just to be frightened back to his hiding position.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he replied as calmly as he could in a rather high-pitched squeak.  “Probably less than a minute, Dean.  Maybe fifteen seconds.  They’ve got my lead; I don’t think this will work.”

The voice on the other line barked back in a tone not meant to be challenged.  “You stay in your location, Double D—you got your silver pixie dust?” 

Garth blew his cheeks out to relieve the rapid pulsing in his chest.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Dean’s sarcasm strangely relaxed him and reminded him there was a chance of escaping death’s eager talons.  Garth bit his bottom lip as the sweat thickened above his brows.  “I got the silver, Dean.  I’m sure this will work.”  Reaching into a side pocket in his cargo pants, Garth pulled out a flask and fixed his teeth around the cork top.  He popped it off and sprinkled the silver around him like a hunter would do with salt to fend off demons. 

“Did you do it?”  Dean asked.

“Yes,” Garth confirmed.  “If it’s true they’re allergic to silver, then they can’t get through.”  His spine suddenly rippled at the sound of approaching snarls.  He could feel the floor beneath him shake as the thunderous paws struck the ground in determination to find their prey.  Swallowing, Garth turned his face toward the empty space beside him.  Slowly, he saw the profile of an alpha werewolf appear just a foot away from him.  Garth’s breath hitched and he quickly glanced down at the silver circle he had trickled around him.  So far, the werewolf was unable to step through, much less smell Garth’s scent, for the silver distracted a werewolf so much that it made them almost blind to what they were looking for. 

Carefully, while the wolf tried to relocate its targeted prey, Garth slipped his rifle off his shoulder and slid several silver shells into the chamber.  He waited until the werewolf showed its full head, for the wolf’s temple was the most important section apart from the heart. 

The wolf’s upper lip curled upward, showcasing its long, curved fangs.  A paw stretched forward, avoiding the silver circle, and then the gnarly snout turned to Garth.

Garth’s heart stopped the moment two liquid yellow eyes latched onto his blue.  Without hesitation, Garth’s finger curled around the trigger and he pulled.  The large wolf collapsed to the side and flayed wildly before Garth sent another silver cylinder explosive into its head.