I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

Challenge

Once in a blue moon, someone unworthy of a powerful title will take charge. It happened in China, during the rise of communism, after Mao Zedong stepped down from his near tyrannical throne and his successor took his place. Or in the Middle Ages when William II, son of William the Conqueror took the throne. However, all aforementioned rulers were never given the proper chance to rule well. They had to live their lives cast in the mighty shadow of their predecessor.

But, in the case of Tom Chikaltio, he was just awful in every way imaginable. He lived in no one's shadow, and instead was a brutal leader, who demanded everything and more from his pack, even those few things they couldn't give. He was power hungry and animalistic, only caring for his status and defending his title. Why none of his pack members had left him, I would never truly understand – perhaps they were afraid of what he would do if he ever found the deserters.

Chikaltio was a fearsome opponent. He'd won a number of difficult fights and ruled his meager pack with an iron fist. His dominion was the equivalent of barbed wire slowly squeezing around an animal's torso until it pierced the skin and blood burst forth in the form of revolution.

I had only seen him once in my short life, and it was an experience I never wanted to relive.

It was a midsummer afternoon, only a few months after my uncle's final hunt. The kitchen was unearthly quiet. Uncle Dennis' little dachshund, an orange fluff ball by the name of Peony, would often waddle around the kitchen, her uncut toenails clicking against the linoleum tile. Sadly, the little comfort dog would often follow her owner on a hunt, only to stay in the car as Dennis kicked ass.

The kitchen was quiet, the lights dim in the bright afternoon sun. I had been nursing a beer with my feet propped up on the coffee table and a book in my lap – frankly, I had never been a big fan of alcohol, but it helped to take my mind off my grief. There wasn't much to do other than enjoy the quiet. Although, there was little to enjoy, as I was so used to Dennis's booming voice and constant motion. He rarely rested, and the house felt so empty without his lively presence.

A sharp screech was heard from the road, the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Despite the months of solitude, I half expected it to be one of Dennis's many old trucks turning into the drive. I realized quickly that couldn't be the case, as he was never returning home. I stood languidly and stretched, attempting to hold back the flood of negative thoughts, threatening to break through the damn I had built around them, and made my way to the door.

I frowned, leaning against the doorway with my beer still in hand and glared at the approaching silver Toyota Camry. It was an older model, at least ten years old, and the paint was chipped in places. I took another unimpressed sip of my beer and narrowed my eyes at the man who stepped out of the car.

The first thing I noticed was his scent; it hit me like a semi, the smell of car oil and fir tree. The fir was one of the most shocking first impressions I had ever had, as it was a rare smell in rural Alabama.

He was tall and stocky, a coat of thick, wiry hair covering his arms and legs. A thin layer of dirt covered his skin and his short cropped brown hair stuck out at odd angles. He had fearsome, icy blue eyes trained over my relaxed form, and a heavy palm hovering over a pistol on his belt.

The encounter went smoothly, fear lodging itself into both parties. I feared for my life, knowing if I stepped out of line this man would surely try to kill me. Whether he would succeed was unknown to both of us, and that was what scared him. He feared for his position, knowing a third-generation purebred could easily knock him from his throne.

---

I shifted back, knowing full well that starting this fight in my wolf form left me at a disadvantage. The only purpose my fur served for now was to spread my scent and alert his pack to my presence. I shivered with worry, disregarding the thick Alabaman heat. The small lot was empty, save for the two cars, one a beaten-up pickup and the other a totaled Camry, both covered by blue tarps and surrounded by wood scraps.