Chapter Text
Dean darts between the trees, reveling in the feeling of dirt beneath his paws, between his toes, the give of the ground beneath his nails. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, smells drifting into his nose. His wolf recognizes the smell of Sam somewhere to his left, Adam a tiny bit behind him. Jo is north of them, where she should be. Her smell is fainter, farther away.
A few more steps and Dean trots to a stop near a large, flat rock, waiting for Adam to catch up. Poor kid is panting, his chest heaving, the kind of strain that Dean knows he’ll feel tomorrow.
It’s not really his fault, though. He’s smaller than Dean is, shorter legs, lighter hair. He’s still growing, and will probably be closer to Sam’s stature when he’s done. At the thought of his brother a long, lean, darker brown wolf trots into view, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and a wolfish grin on his face. Dean tilts his head in question, silently asking if Sam smelled anything off. His brother huffs and shakes his head. That’s good.
They’re on patrol now, will be for the next hour or so, but they have a few minutes to take a breather. This section of the territory is theirs to check, but his wolf is confident that everything is secure for now. Everything is usually secure. They do stumble upon the occasional human hunter, or hikers in the woods, but they’re harmless in such small numbers. And mostly they don’t bother. They know the Pack is strong.
It’s the new pack next door that has the council on edge. The smell of them is still unfamiliar in Dean’s nose, too clean and soft-smelling compared to what he’s used to. Pack smells like the hunt, like their rocky caves that they call home. The smell of the strangers is grating for his wolf, makes him agitated and edgy.
Luckily, the odd smell is only noticeable right at the edge of their territory. Mostly Dean isn’t bothered by it.
Dean sneezes and lays down, deciding that he might as well relax for a few minutes. The sun is out, and the rock is a nice place to lay down. He lays flat on his belly and rests his muzzle on his paws, assuming that Adam and Sam will follow his lead.
As far as dominance goes, Dean is at the top. He assumes a day will come when Sam will pass him by, but it hasn’t come yet. His brother, for now at least, seems happy to take a step down. Adam, being just a soldier in training, still has a while to go.
Dean naps for a few minutes before deciding that they should continue their patrol. He’s trying to be a good role model for Adam, after all. He stands up and heads off in the right direction, hearing Sam drag himself to his feet and head off on a parallel path. They make good patrol partners, him and Sam. He doesn’t have to snap his teeth or growl or otherwise tell him what to do. Not like when he’s with Garth, who can’t tell the smell of a cat from a caterpillar.
They reach the end of their patrol route about an hour later, finding Jo and Ash already there waiting for them. That’s good. Dean huffs and sniffs their fur, bumping their sides and coating himself in the scent of pack. It pleases his wolf, settles him, washes the wrong scent out of his nose. Sam does the same. Jo rumbles at him in her chest for nipping at her ear, but it’s familial and not confrontational. Ash just plops down on his hind legs, swishing his tail in the dirt.
Jo is even lighter than Adam is in color, even now when her fur is lightly coated in forest dust. She’s smaller, too, but Dean knows she makes up for it in speed and smarts. Ash isn’t a soldier or a Hunter, which means he was out here today with a different task in mind. Dean wonders absently what it was, but it doesn’t matter enough for him to linger on it for too long. His wolf doesn’t care about petty human things.
After a few more minutes they decide to call it, turning east towards the center of pack territory and heading in that direction. Dean sees a nice juicy burger in his future, a picture that his grumbling stomach seems to approve of.
***
The entrance of the pack den, the Bunker, is filled with the cracking of bones and joints as they shift, none of them making a noise at the familiar pain. It isn’t fun, shifting back and forth, but Dean would rather have this than nothing. He feels his skin stretch and tear, feels his fur disappear in favor of vulnerable flesh. His neck cracks and he rolls his skull from side to side, waiting for the last of the change to reach his finger tips.
He blinks around, adjusting to his slightly lessened human vision, watching Sam do the same while the others continue to shift. It takes Adam the longest, but that’s understandable. He’s the youngest. He’ll get the hang of it.
“How were things today?” Jo asks as she pulls on her clothes, all of them unconcerned with their nudity.
“Quiet,” Dean sighs, “as always. Any sign of the neighbors?”
“Nah. Saw some delicious looking deer, though.”
“I think there’s a new herd migrating in,” Sam comments, just as he finishes with his shoes. “They smelled new.”
“Hmmph,” Dean grumbles, rubbing his palms. “Hafta let the council know.”
“That’s all you,” Jo laughs, touching her finger to her nose and wandering off with Ash. “We got data to report!”
Dean lets them go, shaking his head at the little blonde.
“You want me to tell them?” Sam asks, pausing on his way out the door. “If you’re busy.”
“It’s fine. Just gonna go spend some time with the pups. I got it.”
Sam nods and disappears out the door, probably on his way to see Jess.
“You did good today, kid,” Dean says, clapping Adam on the shoulder. The kid practically beams, his smile from ear to ear.
“Really? Thank you, sir. That means a lot, coming from you.”
Dean snorts. “I ain’t that special, kid. Now go make yourself useful.”
Adam skitters off, probably to tell the other juveniles about the patrol. It might be the literal least exciting job in the pack, but newbie soldiers seem to think there’s something cool or official about it. It’s bullshit, but whatever.
Dean finishes pulling on his shoes and heads off for the council room, trying to stretch his arms as he goes. Being out for patrol had felt good, but he’s still got some lingering tension in his muscles. His wolf wants to get back out for a run, to go where it wants instead of following some pre-determined path, but his pack needs him in here right now.
The cavernous tunnels of the pack’s home are mostly empty, and Dean thinks it must be lunch time. Instead of stopping for food he jogs right past the dining quarters and on to the council chambers at the opposite end of the mountain.
The council members don’t live down here, but this is where he’s most likely to find them and where he is expected to look. It’s silly, but it’s necessary to respect the pack structure. He is not above it, no matter who is parents are.
Luckily, when Dean arrives at the council chamber four of the five council members are there. Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, and John. His dad. The council room is a big circular space, with a giant rectangular slab in the middle that serves as a table. There are five chairs along the far side, for the Council, and ten or so other chairs opposite them for anyone who might come to see them. Dean rarely sits in them, much preferring to stand, but they’re there. The four of them raise their heads at his arrival, pausing their conversation and looking up at him expectantly. His wolf automatically raises to its full height in the presence of so many alphas, and Dean straightens his spine and holds his shoulders back subconsciously.
“Son,” John says, his voice gruff. He gives Dean a tiny nod, keeping his face otherwise stoic. The other council members nod as well, a show of recognition.
“Dad. Some news from patrol.”
“Spit it out,” Ellen says, gesturing with her hands. “Any signs of our new neighbors?”
Dean shakes his head sharply. “Other than the smell? No. Just a new deer herd that’s moving in, probably from the west. They’re not shifters. Sam saw a few scattered in the northern southwest quadrant. Jo saw some in the southern northwest.”
“See? Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” Bobby crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, shooting a look at John. “They said they’d respect the boundary. They’re respectin’ the boundary.”
John huffs and mimics Bobby’s position, glancing at each of the other council members. “Let us know if anything changes. You’re dismissed.”
“Sir,” Dean nods, clasping his hands behind his back and walking stiffly out of the room. His wolf hates it in there, hates the posturing.
Dean jogs away from the council chamber and up a set of wide, stone stairs towards the nursery instead of towards the dining quarters. His mom wasn’t in the council chamber, which means she is probably up here with the pups. Nothing else is on this level, except for the nursery. It keeps things quiet for the kids, and makes it easier to keep track of them. Dean’s wolf immediately calms, the scent of puppies and omega sifting into his nose.
The nursery isn’t anything special, just a small round room with a padded floor and stone walls. There are piles of blankets and a box of toys, both for toddlers and for pups, and a large screen that the Pack occasionally uses to let the pups watch cartoons. The pups spend a good amount of time in here, when they aren't with their families, to get exposure to each other and the other pack members. Might as well have something for them to do.
As expected, he finds his mom sitting on the floor of the nursery with a book in her hands, in the middle of a pile of pups. There’s a blanket spread out underneath her, one that Dean remembers laying on when he was a pup. Two of the kids are shifted, their tiny muzzles stretching in tired yawns, and one is not. Mary smiles when Dean walks in, setting her book down and patting the floor next to her.
“Hello, sweetheart. How’s my little angel today?”
Dean’s wolf ruffles. He’d bite somebody’s head off for calling him that, if it was anyone except his mom.
“M’ good,” he mumbles, picking up one dark haired toddler and a puppy so he can sit down. He crosses his legs and sets the toddler in his lap along with the little wolf, watching as they shift around to get comfortable. The toddler, a two year old named Eddie, grins up at him and sticks two of Dean’s fingers into his mouth. Dean lets him. Puppies like to chew, and sometimes it bleeds over into the person, too. Dean doesn’t mind.
Mary nods, reaching a hand out and stroking his cheek lovingly. Dean isn’t sure if it’s the touch of the pack healer that calms him, or the touch of his mother, but in any case his wolf settles, flopping down for a little nap.
“We just had lunch,” she says softly, gesturing at the pups. “Now we’re having a story and nap time. Do you have time to stay?”
“‘Course,” Dean says, ruffling Eddie’s hair. Mary smiles at him and continues her story.
Dean doesn’t really hear much of it, he’s more focused on the pups around him. They shift closer to him, resting their muzzles on his legs, and he knows it’s his alpha that they’re flocking to. He runs his fingers through soft puppy fur and lets Eddie chew on his fingers. He knows how important this is, to the stability of the pack. Pack is built on touch, on contact, on family bonds. It’s even more important for him. Hunters are the protectors of the pack, sure, but they’re also the glue that holds it together. The council keeps the pack in order, and the Hunters keep it healthy. Having their strongest, their most dominant wolves spend time with the pups, share skin privilege with them, is vital.
And the Hunters never pretend it isn’t good for them, too. It settles their wolves, like it’s doing to Dean’s wolf now. It keeps the beast in check. Though that is partially Mary’s job, too. The pack omega, the pack healer, she’s the one who keeps them all from going rogue. Keeps the beasts from taking over. Keeps them human.
It doesn’t take long for the pups to drop off, one by one, into a peaceful slumber. Dean smiles at the kids draped on his lap, the one curled up on Mary’s. God he loves these kids.
“How was patrol today?” Mary whispers, setting the book down on the ground.
Dean shrugs. “Quiet.”
“No signs of the new pack?”
Dean shakes his head. “The council seems worried about it.”
“They are. Having another predatory pack right on our doorstep…”
Dean gets it. Shifters aren’t that common, and predatory shifters are even less so. Now having two packs of predatory shifters living right on top of each other, that was asking for trouble.
“That’s not to mention, we don’t know much about their breed.”
And isn’t that the truth. Living next door to another pack of wolves, it would be tense but it would be easier. Wolves make sense, wolves follow the same rules. But these guys?
They aren’t wolves. They’re leopards. And if there’s one thing Dean doesn’t get, it’s cats.
“How are you?” Mary continues, sounding concerned. Dean bristles.
“Fine. Feel like I need to run.”
Mary nods. She’s doing a good job of hiding her concern, but Dean knows his mom better than that.
“I’m glad you came by,” she smiles, touching his cheek softly. “I never see you.”
“Life of a Hunter.”
She nods again, dropping her hand. Dean wants it back, wants the touch of his mom. With his wolf on edge so often these days, it feels nice to have some peace.
“Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
There’s concern there, and not just for him. For the Pack. Because Dean is their top Hunter. And if he loses it…
Yeah. That wouldn’t be good.
Dean leaves the nursery a little while later, once the pups are waking up from their nap. He’s pleased to see Garth and Kevin arriving to help out, and decides they are all in good hands.
He ignores the dining quarters again, even though his stomach is grumbling. He was out in the forest all morning, but his wolf is still up and itching for a chance to run, to get the forest in his fur, to exhaust himself so he can sleep.
His muscles ache from the change, from shifting so many times in one day, but it feels good to get out of his human skin. He doesn’t have to think as much, doesn’t have to worry so much about his life. He can let his wolf take over, let it carry him through the familiar expanse of woods that he calls home. He doesn’t let the wolf have complete control, he just loosens his grip, let’s his body move on instinct. The air is fresh outside the caves of the Pack’s den, the sun shining bright above him. It’s a warm day, and Dean can already feel his muscles heating up as the sun beats down on his back.
Dean tears through the forest, his wolf pushing the limits of his body as far as they’ll go. He smells deer, somewhere south of him, he smells Benny and Andrea somewhere east. He avoids them. Mated pairs make it worse. Meg is on patrol to the north too, with a soldier-in-training named Krissy, so he runs southwest.
Already he’s feeling better. His wolf isn’t sitting at the surface anymore, and he feels more in control of himself. He growls happily and slows his run, satisfied that he can manage himself. And anybody who thinks he can’t can stuff it.
He’s almost back to the flat rock, the one he had stopped at earlier during patrol, when he catches a whiff of the scent. It’s like their neighbors, only stronger, and not as unpleasant. It smells like unfamiliar fur and bark on trees and other things he doesn’t recognize. His wolf immediately jumps to the surface, hackles raised and teeth bared. Something about this smell is getting right under his wolf’s skin in a not entirely unpleasant way. He slows his gait even more, steps quietly through the woods. If one of their neighbors are here, he certainly doesn't want them to see him. His wolf grumbles that they are bigger, they are stronger than whoever this intruder is, but Dean shoves it away.
As he gets closer to the rock the smell gets stronger, and he perks his ears up to see if he can hear any movements, any voices, anything at all. He catches nothing. It’s when the flat rock finally comes into sight that he catches the flick of a black tail.
There’s a cat laying on his rock, in his territory. A cat.
A big cat, admittedly, but a cat.
Dean knows that their new neighbors are leopards. A pack of them, smaller than his own, but a substantial number. He knows this. But seeing a leopard, a black leopard stretched out in the sun is completely different than hearing about it.
And, at the end of the day, this is his territory. No cat is going to take it from him. His wolf growls in satisfaction. They will teach this cat a lesson.
He steps carefully through the trees, pulling his lips back in a snarl and growling at the cat as he goes. The black tail flicks again, but otherwise the cat doesn’t move. Dean stalks around to the other side of the rock, raising his hackles and standing to his full height. He’s a big wolf, he knows he is, and he’s intimidating. This cat should be afraid of him.
Instead, it cracks open one icy blue eye and stares at him, lazily flicking its tail and making absolutely no movements to change location.
Dean balks. Who does this cat think it is? Lounging around in his territory, treating him like some juvenile who hasn’t learned to bark?
So Dean growls again, lower and meaner sounding than the last one. The cat opens both eyes at that, looking mildly impressed with the sound. Dean’s wolf likes that. Now they’re getting somewhere. Dean growls a third time, and he swears he sees the cat roll its blue eyes before it stands up.
Good. Get lost ya stupid cat.
The cat turns in place, hopping off of the stone and slowly padding away from Dean’s home. It even stretches it’s back as it goes, arching downwards and sticking it’s butt up in the air. Dean keeps growling, stalking behind it as it goes.
And then with one last flick the cat swats Dean in the face with his tail, right before disappearing into a tree just on the other side of the territory line. Dean snarls and snaps his teeth, just barely resisting the urge to chase after it.
What. The. Fuck.