Georgie- A Supernatural Fanfic Meets the #Buslife Movement

Chapter 1: Werewolf Attack

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It was a full moon night, Sam noticed, as they drove down the poorly-maintained country road. Going across a large rutt in an intersection bumped him out of his slight trance. 

"Dean, can't you go any faster?" Going so slow over bumps like these made him feel like they were driving through the Grand Canyon. "If you go faster, I won't hit my head on the roof so much."

Dean, of course, was offended by such a suggestion. "You realize Baby is 45 years old? She's more important that your big, dumb head."

"Hey!"

-- 

By early evening, the air was hot and humid but was starting to cool down. Sam's clothes stuck to him. He'd shucked all but one layer of flannel. 

He and Dean ran around the side of the rickety old barn, the werewolf right on their heels. Dean stumbled over a tumbleweed, cursing. 

"Sam, what do you mean you don't have the bullets?" Dean glanced back over his shoulder, recovering from the stumble. 

Sam felt very defensive. "You were in charge of getting the ammo for your guns! Only the 50 cal has silver," he yelled over the sound of his pounding heart and panting breaths. 

Dean cursed again. The men ran as fast as their legs could carry them toward the farmhouse. Sam knew in his bag he had a silver machete that would do the trick. It was more short-range than he was comfortable with when dealing with werewolves, but it was their only choice. 

In a second, they were jumping the front porch, entering the doorway and slamming the door shut behind them. 

"Sam!" Dean called. He gestured to a heavy table beside the door. They each took a side and heaved it in front of the doorway just as the wolf's body crashed into the door. 

Sam made a dash for the bag he had left on the table in the kitchen. Dean held his hands against the door, pushing with all his might as the wolf crashed against the door in a mindless, hungry panic. "Hurry," Dean called into the house. His hip took another hard blow as he braced himself against the table and door. Just as Sam reentered the room with a silver knife in hand, the two heard loud gunshots echo outside. 

They looked at each other in confusion. 

The room was still. The wolf didn't hit the door. 

The brothers hoisted the table away from the door and cautiously exited onto the front porch. The wolf was lying dead on the wood several feet away, blood seeping from two bullet holes in his head and heart. 

"How...?" Dean looked around for the shooter. He saw no one. 

Sam's ears perked up when he heard a very feminine voice call out in pain. 

Sam ran toward the voice, sending Dean away to fetch his bag which always had medical supplies. Sam ran down the porch steps, skipping the bottom two. A woman was kneeling on the ground, a gun in one hand and her other pressed on a wound on her thigh. 

Blood came from a hole in her jeans where it appeared to have been ripped by claws. 

"Hey, are you alright?" Sam sank to the ground in front of her, ready to help. Up close he saw her blue eyes scrunching with pain. 

"I need stitches. Can you do stitches?" 

Sam laughed at her bluntness. "Yes, I can do stitches. I've got lots of practice."

The woman sat down on the grass, struggling to put weight on the sliced leg while keeping her hand on the wound. Sam stripped his belt off and gestured to her leg. "May I?"